


An Easy Workaround for the Clark Kent Dilemma

by grey_hunter



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Explicit Sexual Content, Identity Reveal, M/M, Plotty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-10 16:19:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey_hunter/pseuds/grey_hunter
Summary: What child doesn’t dream of one day becoming a superhero?Some children grow out of it and move on to dreams within their reach.Others grow up to design a virus to give everyone superpowers. Instead they end up killing all those they aim to emulate.Yet others just fall into the life unexpectedly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/gifts).



> Dear LFB72,  
> I loved your prompts and tried to choose one and write it. But instead I ended up with this fic which is like a mash-up of several. I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. I wish you a happy holiday season!
> 
> \---  
> Special thanks to K for the beta and the nagging.

**_Here Be Dragons_ **

_The Celebrity News_

**_Once and Future Superheroes of the UK_ **

_by Kilgar, A._

_The first superhero after the so-called Great Purge emerges in Britain. He's called **The Prince** and he won't be the only one!_

_This new-generation superhero has been created, thanks to a new research breakthrough in genetic engineering primarily aimed at reversing the devastating effects of MAGIC [1]. This new, experimental treatment doesn't only mitigate the symptoms but can co-opt the virus itself to identify and switch on the genes responsible for superhuman powers, instead of eradicating them! (Although it has to be said that this does not work in every case, which is why the treatment is still considered experimental.)_

_So who is The Prince and what does he do?_

_Unfortunately, no one who has seen him has taken a picture yet! Can you believe it? He is rumoured to be invulnerable, and several eyewitnesses claim to have seen him be hit by a car and get up, unharmed; get shot and repel the bullets, be buried under a demolished house and sustain no injuries, but we won’t believe it until we see it with our own eyes. Or at least someone posts it on YouTube._

_What to do if you want to be a superhero, too? 1) contract MAGIC, 2) sign up for treatment, 3) hope for luck! (Warning: step 1 could be potentially hazardous to health.)_

_[1]: For those who missed the last half century, thirty-some years ago the designer virus MAGIC was responsible for the so-called Great Purge: a systematic extermination of every super-powered individual all over the world, as well as family members who did not share their powers but shared the relevant genes, albeit unexpressed. The virus lives on in their children and grandchildren and has a tendency of going active at unexpected times. After it goes active, it begins to rewrite the DNA of single cells according to random mutations which might occur in the guide RNA of the CRISPR/Cas9 systems within the virus. Because of this, symptoms vary and no universal cure has been found for it yet. There’s no stopping it with conventional medicine, and it always ends in death._

**\---**

One time, during his training, Merlin got to walk on the surface of the Moon. The scenario had been a simulated technical emergency on the training vehicle to be completed within an unknown time frame or risk failing the test; there had been no time for sightseeing. But even with this knowledge firmly in mind, his heart pumping in readiness and his body saturated with adrenaline, Merlin hadn't been able to help that first second of breathless wonder he had experienced after the airlock had slid open to the great black.

It had been like stepping into a still photograph of vintage black and white. Nothing was moving: no dust swept by an unfelt breeze, no dancing shadows, no flickering of starlight in the scarce atmosphere, no sounds apart from the whoosh of his own lungs recycling the canned air within his spacesuit. It had been as though time’s flow around him had stopped entirely, and he had been the only one left unaffected.

The same feeling came over him now, standing cradled firmly within Earth’s reassuring gravity well, in the middle of a busy intersection in Camden, witnessing tragedy unfold.

On the night of all hallows’ eve, the streets were brightly lit by festive displays. Grinning pumpkin heads and holographic ghost decorations everywhere made the scene look like something straight out of a Tim Burton film but the fear on the people’s faces was beginning to turn into the real thing.

Cars were rumbling along the road or waiting impatiently at the red light. The pavement was filled with the party crowd, half of them dressed to impress, the other half wearing ridiculous costumes, just as Merlin himself was wearing the black pirate garb. Merlin had hoped the joke would have got old by now, but what else could he have expected from Will, who dressed up as Han Solo every year?

Will was there, too, standing frozen by Merlin’s side. Holding onto Merlin’s hand, Freya, in her plush pink panther costume, looked like a thirteen-year-old escaped from a sleepover. Her current boyfriend, Lance, whom Merlin had only met an hour ago, dressed as a police constable (a bit of a cheat, but he had apparently come straight from work) was valiantly trying to direct people out of danger’s way. Merlin couldn’t see Gwaine, but he had been just behind them, stumbling down the stairwell from Will’s flat, only a minute before.

A minute before, when they had thought that the rat-tat-tat coming from outside was the sound of distant fireworks and decided to go out and join the festivities. Only to find themselves in the middle of a special ops takedown. Except it did not look as though the police forces would be taking down anyone. All around them were men dressed in black assault gear, slumped down between cars, unmoving bodies curled around their tranq guns. They weren’t dead; their gunfire hadn’t been returned in kind. They looked asleep.

But even as Merlin watched, their movements were slowing down, their frames swallowed by quick-growing swathes of cobwebs. At first, Merlin had thought the cobwebs to be part of the Halloween frippery, but it became clear very soon that they were something else altogether. The webs were everywhere, growing on the walls of the houses, around the revellers and parked vehicles; thrown tatters were waving from the cars driving by. White sheets of web were covering the car windows from the inside, and the unmoving silhouettes of the people sitting in them, whose movements were slowing, coming to a halt just as were the special ops guys. The vehicles on the road remained unaffected; but now, without anyone to steer them, they crashed into each other or ran up the pavement and into the increasingly immobile crowd.

The white spread like frost crystals on a windowpane, down the street and towards where Merlin and his friends were standing. Wherever it went, all living things seemed to grind to a slow, ignominious halt. It reached them within seconds of stepping out of Will’s house, and Merlin felt his limbs grow heavy as his vision dimmed. The sounds of collisions, panicked yells and the blare of horns around him blended together into an indistinct roar. He felt Will’s weight crash into his shoulder blade and Freya’s death grip on his forearm grow lax. The world faded out for a long, torturous heartbeat.

With a sudden lightning flash, his senses came back online. His training must have pushed him through the panic seizing his muscles and wiping out constructive thought. His body was used to restricted movement, having to fight against the rigidity of a pressurised suit. And just as his body was used to surviving hostile conditions, his mind was trained to find the solution to the problems that caused them. So that was what he did.

Once his vision cleared, he tried to evaluate. Looking around was like staring at a panorama display. Everything seemed frozen in time: the people, the out-of-control vehicles, the unlikely cobwebs. And then he realized that everything was. That was when panic seized him anew.

Merlin’s life had been peppered by unlikely happenings from the beginning. Sometimes they were small, like remembering too late that he had left his homework on his desk at home, and then later finding it in his backpack, ready to be handed in. Other times enormous, impossible, like that time when he had managed to land the experimental spacecraft in one piece after a critical failure of the navigational, life support and structural integrity sub-systems, and then stay conscious for hours, paddling in the freezing ocean until the rescue helicopters had arrived. There had been other occurrences in-between on the scale from lucky coincidence to should have been impossible. Merlin had always written them off before, usually because at the time they had happened, there had always been more immediately important things to deal with. Afterwards, it had been easier to dismiss them as hallucinations produced by a stressful situation and/or oxygen deprivation. But deep down, unbelieved and unacknowledged, he had always suspected that somehow he had made them happen.

Merlin made himself breathe through the fear until his mind was clear enough to continue assessing his situation. Will’s weight had disappeared; he was now an unmovable boulder against his back. Freya’s fingers around his forearm seemed like fragile crystalline rings trapping him in place. He carefully pulled his arm upwards until his wrist slipped free, and then looked around. There must have been an origin to this. Whom were the assault team going up against?

Merlin began jogging in the direction from which the cobwebs had seemed to be spreading out. There was a lorry on the road, hiding the crossing from sight. He circled around and found himself looking at the epicentre, in the middle of London’s only remaining petrol station. A dozen bodies, most of them belonging to the men with the tranq guns, were laid out radially around a three-foot empty half-circle. In its centre stood a woman with her back to the glass walls of the shop she must have left recently. She looked quite ordinary, Merlin thought, not someone likely to be the cause of any more chaos and devastation than what could be expected from one who still hadn’t upgraded to electric. She was in her late-fifties - early-sixties, wearing a businesswoman’s attire of dark green skirt suit and white blouse. Her hair was sparkling silver and had probably been neatly combed before she had stepped out the door. An expression of fear and determination was etched on her face, her right arm was lifted in front of her, palm out as if in self-defence.

Merlin followed the outstretched arm with his eyes to find out the cause of her distress and sucked in a sharp breath when he saw. A lorry had been nearing the station - a blue-green tanker, with the BP emblem painted on its trailer. The driver had probably fallen asleep like everyone else, slumped over the wheel. The lorry careened to the left and was now heading on a straight path towards collision with the nearest pump. Its tanker trailer, still on the road, was tilting dangerously and about to fall over. Anyone who had ever seen an action film would have known this could not end well.

All that stood between the inevitable explosion was one man dressed in the same dark assault gear as the rest of the special ops team, standing with his arms outstretched, as if readying himself to repel a humongous beach ball. It should have looked laughable. But it wasn’t because the shiny silver helmet he wore in place of the standard tactical helmet made him instantly recognizable. His pictures had been all over British news media and the inescapable celebrity gossip outlets on the internet, alongside ample speculation about the limit of his superhuman powers: it was The Prince, Britain’s first new-generation super-powered human since the Great Purge. (The helmet covered not only his head but also his face; Merlin and Will, together with thousands of internet-dwellers, had had long discussions about how the hell he was able to see out of it.)

The Prince’s power was invulnerability; as far as Merlin knew superhuman strength did not factor into it. So how had he expected to stop a twenty-ton speeding lorry with his bare hands Merlin didn’t care to guess. Maybe he just hadn’t been able to think of a better solution within the half second between noticing it and when the flow of time had stopped. Luckily, Merlin could think of a one. But thinking about time made him realize he did not know how much of it he had left before the world started up again, so he decided not to waste any more.

He ran past the silver-helmeted figure frozen in time until he reached the lorry. He opened the driver-side door. Thankfully, the driver’s body did not follow it. Merlin rolled it towards the passenger side and took the driver’s place, feet on the pedals, hands on the wheel, mentally preparing his course as soon as time restarted again. And then he waited.

And then almost missed his cue.

Time restarted with a sudden rush of sounds and lights, almost deafening and blinding in their intensity, and the lorry’s inertia pressed him back against the seat. But he had not been chosen out of the best and highest-trained pilots for nothing. It only took him a fraction of a second to wrest control back, steer the lorry’s bulk back on the road. Once he was sure the trailer was no longer in danger of tipping over and nothing was going to run into him, he parked the vehicle by the roadside.

As the giant wheels rolled to a halt, Merlin felt adrenalin receding and was tempted to slump over the wheel with sudden light-headedness. But the driver was making noises, and he reckoned he was better off gone. He opened the door and slipped down the cabin, when he heard someone calling.

“Hey, who are you?” It was The Prince, and (as far as Merlin could tell) he was looking straight at him.

“No need to thank me, mate,” Merlin said, lifting a hand which felt like a thousand tons and waving it off, and then wincing inwardly. The sarcasm always came out in the aftermath of highly stressing situations.

“Mate? Who the hell _are_ you?” The Prince said, with so much disbelief in his tone that Merlin was tempted to bark a laugh. He held it in; it was only the fatigue. Behind The Prince, he saw a figure in green taking off on a run. Merlin nodded his head towards it.

“I think you have greater concerns right now,” he said.

The Prince’s helmet rotated ahead his upper body. He looked after the green-suited woman. The next moment, he swore and took off after her.

Well, Merlin thought, it could have gone worse. At least he hadn’t asked The Prince to take a selfie with him.


	2. Chapter 2

The pub in Islington was one out of dozens of similar establishments scattered around the area and not very successful at drawing a crowd, or perhaps it was just too early for the regulars to begin filling up the place. Whichever it was, Arthur didn't really care; the lack of a crowd was one of the reasons he chose it to unwind in - the other was being only one street away from his new place of residence.

He ordered a glass of wine and sat in one of the empty booths with his phone. After a few seconds of hesitation, he started up one of those matching games which did not demand a lot of concentration and helped him unwind after a stressful day of moving into his new flat. The physical move itself hadn't been stressful, as he hadn't been permitted to take much with him in the way of personal effects. What had been stressful had been all the info sheets he had to read and then get tested on the procedures they described, all the waivers he had to sign, and all the biometric measurements he had undergone in order to induct him into the security system. After all this he had been supposed to undergo a health assessment, but Nurse Gwen had taken one look at him and waved him off with a kind smile to get some food into himself, get a good night's sleep and come back the next morning.

From the outside, his building did not look much. It was newly built, masquerading as a posh office building owned by an international corporation. There were apartments on the lower floors, ostensibly to be used temporarily by employees flown in from remote subsidiaries. At twelve floors' height, it was taller than its surroundings - mostly residential - but not distinctive enough to become remarkable. It had a security booth on the ground floor, which doubled as doorman service after normal working hours.

The flat had come fully furnished and outfitted with the newest media appliances. He had even found a new laptop and a new phone waiting for him, which he was expected to use from now on for identification purposes. (His old phone was still connected but now, if one checked the records, it belonged to a ‘John Smith' living in a slightly different district of London and working for an insurance company.)

He didn't know how much time he had spent on his phone matching jelly beans of varying colours but by the time he looked up from it, there were considerably more people in the pub and the noise level had risen above the high-pitched whining of the traffic outside. Arthur wondered how he had not been made to leave yet as he still had the same glass of now room temperature wine in front of him. But it seemed that despite the time passed, still only half of the booths were occupied and, not to seem immodest, but in his experience most drinking establishments did not kick out eye candy who had the potential to inflate business.

He was looking around, twirling his glass and contemplating whether he should take off to the nearest club when a shadow fell on his boot.

“Hey, can I buy you a new drink?” someone asked. At the same time he heard a distinctive ping. He had forgotten to turn off the dating app on his brand new government-issue phone. The default setting was to start accepting requests once one entered a drinking establishment; Arthur normally set it up so it would only find him “dates” when he went to the specific clubs he only frequented for that sole purpose. Which had been in the plans for that night.

The deep, husky timbre (definitely male) sent an unexpected shiver down Arthur's spine; it had him thinking he might not need to bother going to the club later if he played his cards right. He lifted his gaze.

The man standing above him looked about his own age, with dark hair and a bit of a tan which had not come from a can. He was slim, with a long neck, a lickable Adam's apple and a luscious mouth. A long straight nose bisected his face and his eyes were of an indeterminable dark colour, narrowed in a smile. A very much desirable package in every detail. There was vague familiarity to those features; Arthur couldn't figure out where from, but it intrigued him enough to want to find out.

“Are you going to say you weren't really looking for company tonight?” the man asked. Arthur hesitated. When he didn't get an answer immediately, the man looked ready to go. Arthur suddenly wanted to have none of that.

“No, I was going to say I didn't really come here to drink. But I wouldn't mind your company.” He shifted aside and patted the padded bench next to him. “Even without the complimentary drink.”

His last comment finally broke the ice. The man winked and made to sit.

“I'm Merlin,” he said, and Arthur suddenly knew why he looked so familiar. He sucked in a deep breath, and hoped the lights were dim enough to hide the reddening of his face.

Of course Arthur knew who the man was now: Merlin from Secondary School, from when Arthur had been a spotty thirteen-year-old with a weight problem, a low self-esteem and an unfortunate attitude in the face of anticipated rejection. It had taken him years to realize that it had been his behaviour which had caused most of his peers to turn away from him in disgust, not his looks. And that had been when he hadn't actually been attracted to someone and desperately wanted to impress him.

Merlin offered his hand, unsubtly banging his elbow into the tabletop. It made Arthur nostalgic, and then unreasonably proud of himself for not falling back into his old habits and drawing attention to the mishap, before he remembered that he hadn't been that person for a long time. To Merlin's credit, he didn't try to act as though it hadn't happened; he just shrugged it off, and gave Arthur a self-deprecating smile, which made Arthur's heart skip a beat. While Merlin, the adult, looked considerably different from Merlin, the boy, his smile hadn't changed.

Arthur belatedly introduced himself and managed to take Merlin's hand without causing further injury to either of them.

“So, um,” he said, pondering whether he should be honest and tell Merlin who he was - or be selfish and only mention their shared past after Merlin had time to get to know the current him. He decided on the latter. “Are you a regular here? I just moved around the corner and don't know any of the good places yet.”

Merlin's face twisted into a complicated expression before being smoothed out by a smile. “You didn't check my profile on your phone, did you?” he asked, grinning. “To answer your question, no, I'm not a regular. Not even on this continent,” he said, and Arthur felt a sudden hollow in his stomach. “Although that might change in the near future as I've just had a job interview.”

“How did it go?” Arthur asked politely, and then he realized he was really interested in the answer. If it went well, he would probably get to see more of him in the future.

Merlin shrugged and grimaced. “Probably good. To tell you the truth, I don't really want to leave my current job, but it seems I won't have a choice.”

Arthur contemplated whether it would be considered prying if he asked about Merlin's job when it was rather obvious he only intended their acquaintance to be one-night only. Although now that his phone had Merlin's contact details, Arthur was planning on keeping them - and maybe using them - in the future, whether he came back to live in the UK or not.

“That sucks, mate,” he said, going with the safe route.

“So what about you?” Merlin asked. “Did you move here for a new job too or just changing scenery?”

“A bit of both,” Arthur answered. Now he was glad he hadn't asked. His necessary reticence about his own job would have seemed rude otherwise. “I got reassigned to a different subdivision.”

A waitress came to their table and Merlin ordered a new glass of soda for himself and, after asking, Arthur too. Arthur wondered whether out of solidarity or because he wanted to keep his wits. Either way, he approved.

“Sorry, but you seem familiar...” Merlin said after their order arrived. Arthur's heart skipped a beat at the prospect of being recognised as Merlin's childhood bully. He didn't know whether he feared or desired it but still felt himself deflate some when it did not come and Merlin finished the sentence with, “Aren't you Draco Williams? At least you look a lot like him.”

Arthur probably didn't manage to hide his reaction very well.

“...And either you are and don't like to be recognized, or you aren't but get this question a lot. Sorry,” Merlin finished with a funny grimace. He still had a very mobile face - one of the things Arthur had noticed even when he had been thirteen and laughably clueless about the deeper nature of his fascination with the other boy - now a man.

Arthur's cringe turned into amusement. “You a darts fan?”

“Not really.” Merlin shrugged. “One of my mates. Unfortunately, he spends most of his time on youtube, so I really only recognized you because of that vid he showed me of you throwing darts at that other pro while he held a darts board.”  

“It was a bet,” Arthur murmured. Merlin grinned. Arthur couldn't blame him. In retrospect, it looked funny, although in the immediate aftermath it had seemed like a huge dark blot on his professional career. He and Morrison (the one who had suggested the bet and then had been drunk enough to actually hold that board) had almost got fined for it, even though it happened outside of competition. His agent - the same one who had been responsible for the stupid and pretentious-sounding professional name - had fought YouTube very hard for that video to be taken down. “And I'm just a lowly civil servant now. So I'd rather you didn't call me Draco,” he continued, shuddering theatrically. “It was enough having to answer to it for three and a half years.”

“Sounds like someone was a Rowling fan,” Merlin quipped.

“You can blame my parents,” Arthur said. “My mother was an active fandom participant and wanted to name me after one of the characters. My father felt very strongly about obliging her.” Because they had both known she was dying of MAGIC, and none of the world's most advanced medicine could stop her slow deterioration. Arthur grimaced to himself. Not exactly a topic for light conversation. “You know what, let's not talk about this,” he suggested.

He could feel Merlin's contemplative gaze on him and looked up. He saw narrowed eyes, and then Merlin nodded slowly.

“Do you want to talk about something else?” he said. “Or, we could just get out of here and spend time—not talking?” he asked with a hopeful lilt.

“Moving fast,” Arthur commented and then to indicate he didn't mean it as a criticism, he finished his drink in one gulp.

“Got an early flight back to Florida tomorrow morning.” Merlin shrugged and copied Arthur. They stood at the same time and started towards the door.

The walk was less awkward than Arthur had expected it to be, chiefly because they agreed to go back to Merlin's hotel room so he wouldn't have to leave right after, or do the walk of shame at the break of dawn the next day. Because of this, they had to use the tube where the ambient noise level discouraged casual conversations. Privately, Arthur was happy for the excuse. His new building's strict security procedures were not conducive to taking one-night stands up to his flat.

Merlin took him to the Hilton in Angel and then up to one of the more expensive suites, apparently footed by his new would-be employers who had not only paid for his accommodations but also for the first class plane tickets to get him here and then back. Secretly, Arthur was impressed by the implications about Merlin's desirability as a new hire; he would have been lying if he'd said it did nothing for his desirability in other aspects - mainly those which involved a lack of clothing and possibly a bed.

As soon as the lift doors closed on them, Arthur found himself pressed against the mirrored wall by Merlin's own body, and kissed breathless. It took him a second to get over his surprise and kiss back, winding his arms around a slim waist and smoothing over well-defined muscles under the smart shirt and designer jeans Merlin was wearing. Then as suddenly as he had found himself sensually assaulted, he was left light-headed and wanting. Merlin's timing was impeccable; one second later the lift dinged to signal their arrival at the right floor and came to a halt. Merlin grinned at him with newly reddened lips and slipped his fingers into the back pocket of Arthur's jeans to tug him past the stairwell and to his room. He opened the door with a key card which magically appeared in his hand, and then they were finally inside.

Once the objective was in accessible distance, the unexpected frenzy cooled somewhat, leaving Arthur free to toe off his trainers and walk to the bed. And then Merlin's hands were on Arthur's hips and his warmth at his back, clever hands converging around his waist to undo his fly. Within seconds, Merlin's long fingers were sliding under Arthur's boxer briefs, pushing them down together with his trousers, and letting them pool around his ankles.

Arthur looked up and sucked in a breath. Merlin had positioned them so that they were standing in front of a large window (the view from it into a neglected backyard and industrial brick walls left something to be desired) in which he could see his own pale daytime reflection: naked from the waist down and undeniably aroused. Merlin's hands slid up under his jumper and the t-shirt he wore underneath, combing through Arthur's chest hair and twisting his nipples into little peaks. Then, with a movement similarly economic as before, he helped Arthur out of those as well.

“Don't worry, the windows are mirrored,” Merlin murmured into Arthur's ear, eyes fixed on their mirrored image just as Arthur's were, while he slid his palms appreciatively over all that exposed skin. Arthur shivered; he told himself it was from the contrast between warm skin and cool air.

“I know,” he told Merlin, his voice scratchy and dry. And besides, it wasn't yet dark outside, and they didn't have any lights on. Still, the feeling of being exposed to Merlin's - and possibly other people's - admiring eyes did things to him. Awakened desires previously unexplored and unsuspected.

Suddenly, he felt self-conscious about being the only one undressed. He stepped out of his discarded garments and turned around, intent on getting Merlin equally naked. He found Merlin already in the process of undoing the top couple of buttons of his shirt and, since Merlin's forearms were already advantageously positioned, Arthur went to help/hinder by undoing his cuffs. The rest of the buttons Merlin didn't bother with, just pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Arthur let Merlin unbutton his jeans himself. In the meantime, he stepped back and sprawled out on Merlin's bed invitingly (he hoped), and let himself enjoy the sight.

Merlin's chest was covered with unexpectedly thick dark hair, though it was neatly groomed, just like the patch which began south from his navel. He really looked as fit as he had felt to Arthur's questing hands: not an ounce of fat on him. His muscles were lean and functional, not built for show. Arthur had a prime view to admire the flex of his gluteus as Merlin stood on one leg to remove the well-fitted jeans. There was nothing precarious about the stance. Merlin balanced on one foot just as effortlessly as if he had stood on both legs; Arthur wondered about the kind of training which equipped him with the ability.

Merlin didn't allow him much time to admire. As soon as he was rid of every item of clothing, he stalked towards the bed and climbed between Arthur's legs.

“Are you going to leave your socks on?” he asked, grinning, and then lifted Arthur's ankles one by one to finish undressing him.

Arthur let him, his eyes alighting on Merlin's cock jutting from its dark nest of hairs. It was long and had a nice girth, and a plump, red head, and Arthur desperately wanted to get his mouth around it. He licked his lips.

He heard a groaning sound, and then Merlin was suddenly on him, his naked body against Arthur's and pressing him back into the sheets, soft lips against Arthur's own, tongue licking at Arthur's teeth before dwelling deeper. Arthur heard himself echoing the groan, his arms winding around Merlin's shoulders, his hips lifting off the bed and rubbing up against Merlin's groin and the hard line of his cock.

Merlin braced his weight on his left arm and used the right one to touch Arthur. His hand ran down Arthur's ribs, smoothed over his hipbone and then circled around Arthur's waist to cup his buttock. Arthur's left leg lifted on its own, curling around Merlin's waist and allowing him more access. Merlin's hand followed the movement and dipped between their bodies to caress the sensitive insides of Arthur's thigh. Arthur let himself moan appreciatively, enjoying the sensation and the light shudders it evoked as it made him light-headed and wanting.

Merlin's stroking hand changed course and slid between Arthur's legs, cupping Arthur's balls. Then they slipped further down, long fingers dipping between his cheeks. Arthur's back arched with the new surge of sensation, lifting both of their bodies off the bed.

Merlin withdrew from their kiss, panting and red-faced, as they both doubtlessly were - grabbed at Arthur's buttock and squeezed, hard.

“Yeah?” he asked, not needing to clarify further.

“There's lube and condoms in my jeans,” Arthur said, eager to get things moving in the right direction.

There was a necessary halt to the proceedings while Merlin located the items in question. Afterwards, he climbed back on the bed between Arthur's thighs.

"Can I or do you want to?" he asked, holding up the packets of lube.

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. "Be my guest," he said and scooted up higher on the bed so he could lean back against the pillows.

"Up." Merlin patted his thigh. Arthur lifted his leg, as instructed, until his thigh touched his chest, holding it there with one hand.

"Flexible," Merlin whistled appreciatively. "Nice and smooth, too." Merlin's other hand slid appreciatively over Arthur's hairless buttock. Arthur shrugged. He got into the habit of shaving after the treatment had left him with only fine, white-blond hairs growing patchily, as if he had some sort of nasty STD. His pubic region was still like that if he let it grow out, so it was just easier to keep it smooth and avoid the awkward questions. Besides, most of his partners appreciated the effort, so it wasn't exactly a hardship.

"Will you get on with it?" he demanded, grabbing his flagging erection and giving it a few tugs, providing a view which apparently did not help Merlin's concentration because he nearly fumbled one of the packets before he managed to tear it open and squeeze its contents onto his fingers. Arthur continued stroking himself while Merlin smeared the lube against his ass, slicking his fingers in the process. He then rubbed the pads against Arthur's hole until his skin became tingly with sensation and the muscle yielded to the pressure.

Arthur hissed and held onto the hilt of his shaft when two of Merlin's fingers popped inside him. It did not hurt at all, despite how long it had been since he had had anything inside him. Instead, a throbbing warmth spread outward from his core to his groin and thighs, heating his skin and melting his spine. Merlin's fingers slid in further, tickling his insides as they went. Arthur groaned and felt his muscles tighten around them, the sense of being penetrated suddenly more intense than anything else.

"So hot," he heard Merlin's voice murmur and realized he had closed his eyes, giving himself wholly to the feeling of Merlin's fingers inside him, working against the resistance. There were two fingers and then three and four. Arthur opened his eyes again when he felt Merlin lift his other leg out of the way as well, resting the back of Arthur's knee on his shoulder and kissing the thin skin as he continued working him open. Arthur's hand on his own cock stopped moving; now he just held it against his stomach and out of the way so he could watch Merlin finger-fuck him, the pleasure mounting, until that was the only thing he could concentrate on. When he was too close to coming (and Merlin hadn't even touched his prostate apart from a few questing touches), he grabbed Merlin's wrist and halted its movement. As Merlin's fingers stilled inside him, Arthur felt his ass twitch and clamp down on them again, pushing until they slipped from him entirely, leaving him empty and shivering.

Merlin didn't need verbal instructions to proceed, which was lucky as Arthur found himself unequal to the task of speaking coherently. Merlin slipped on the condom quickly, giving Arthur just enough time to catch his breath.

"Give me a second?" Arthur said, stretching out his cramping muscles after having been effectively folded in two.

"Want to turn around?" Merlin asked while emptying the other packet of lube and rubbing it on his cock. His other hand naturally returned to Arthur, playing with his hole and idly tugging at his rim, and then sank a finger into Arthur to feel for his prostate, which slowed Arthur's decision-making skills until he was done hissing and shuddering with the sensation.

"I think I want to see you," Arthur managed to gasp out, pushing down on Merlin's finger and riding it as well as he could in this position, trying to aim the tip at his prostate in search for more stimulation.

"I could fuck you against the window," Merlin suggested, and the image of it halted Arthur's half-conscious movements. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and felt himself nodding intently.

It only took a second for Arthur to position himself in front of the window and lean forward, legs in a comfortably widened stance, palms against the glass. Now that he wasn't lying against the sweaty sheets, he started feeling the cold. His nipples contracted and the smear of lube cooled the heated skin between his cheeks, but the sensations only made his cock harder. The sun had gone down a while ago, and the colourful lights of the city lit the room with moonlight hues. The smooth surfaces of the furniture gleamed with reflections from the cars' moving headlights. Even though the street under the window was not a main thoroughfare, it didn't mean it was void of people. Arthur wondered how much they would be able to see, should one of them look up at the window.

"I can't see our reflection," he muttered, sensing Merlin at his back; his hands came down to rest on both sides of Arthur's buttocks. He must have found something to wipe them off because they were no longer slippery with lube.

"Want me to switch on a light?" Merlin asked.

Arthur felt a thrill. He couldn't deny that the thought of doing it in front of a window excited him, watching the people outside so close but unaware of what was going on inside this room. On the other hand, the thought of actually putting himself on display, and without the protection of the mirrored window, was not that attractive.

"Let's just do it like this," he said, feeling a bit let down by his own cowardice. But the sensation of a blunt and slippery heat gently nudging between his cheeks made him quickly forget about it. Arthur shifted his weight to one hand and reached back with the other to grab Merlin's cock and guide it to his hole.

Merlin groaned against his back and pushed into him with a series of small thrusts, going deeper and deeper, and by the fifth or sixth he was fully in. Once fully sheeted, he stepped forward, prompting Arthur to shift with him. He curled an arm around Arthur's chest, palm against his sternum, pulling Arthur fully upright. Arthur rested his head on Merlin's shoulder, neck arching, as Merlin's fingers slid upwards and wound around his throat. His lips pressed small kisses against the sensitive skin behind Arthur's ear while he continued thrusting inside Arthur. The fingers of his other hand rubbed circles around Arthur's nipple and then went to pinch the other one, until Arthur was lost within a sea of different stimuli.

He felt hot and cold at once, knees getting weak with the brilliant flashes of sensation against his prostate, at the same time, he felt he could relax and just let Merlin hold him up. Merlin's questing hand drifted back down his sternum, rubbing a circle around his navel, smoothed down the smooth skin of his straining abdomen and curled around Arthur's balls, lifting them within the warm cradle of his palm. On the next stroke, Merlin tightened his hold and drove in hard and fast, repeatedly, and Arthur was coming against the windowpane, dick twitching to the rhythm of Merlin's cock moving in his ass, until his balls emptied and his legs gave out.

Merlin caught him before he could fall and propped him up against the window, waiting patiently until Arthur was capable of standing on his own again. Then Merlin braced his hands on Arthur's hips and pressed back into his pliant body, his thrusts hard, quick and erratic, until a few seconds later Arthur could feel him coming.

Arthur rested against the cold glass, with Merlin's heated body draped against his back. They were both breathing hard, bodies cooling quickly as sweat evaporated into the chilly hotel room air. When his heartbeat settled, Arthur clenched around Merlin's cock, eliciting a groan, but Merlin got the hint and pulled out. Arthur turned around, back against the pane, arms crossed in front of his chest, and watched Merlin stumble towards the bed, discarding the condom on his way and landing it precisely in the bin.

"Are you going to stay the night?" he asked, half-sprawled on the bed, legs bent at the knees, soles propped on the floor.

"Only if you make place on the bed," Arthur grunted in answer, grimacing at the cooling, wet sensation around his hole and the back of his thighs. He clenched experimentally, trying to predict the level of soreness he would have to expect the day to come. "Not sleeping on the floor."

Merlin laughed and climbed up the bed fully, slipping under the covers and patting the mattress beside him. "Good that we didn't make a wet spot," he commented idly as Arthur padded into the bathroom and found some toilet paper to clean himself with. He washed his hands and face, smoothing wet fingers over his skin to wipe off the worst of the sweat, then finished up and went back into the room to slip in beside Merlin, who was already half asleep.

They did end up making a wet spot or two during the rest of the night, though.

 

\--

 

Merlin blinked in the greyish dawn light as he pushed open the hotel lobby's heavy, darkened glass door. The taxi was already waiting for him by the kerb. Merlin only had a small case with him, so it took no time to board it and be on his way.

It was not a self-driving car; Merlin remembered they were not yet licensed near the airport. The traffic there was too unpredictable, too many people on foot crossing the roads.

The driver was a serious-looking woman in her forties. She was wearing a teal twinset with jeans and drinking black coffee from a paper cup with the logo of a chain on its side. The taxi was taking him to Heathrow at a steady pace; the early morning traffic obliging with empty roads and frequently green lights.

Merlin took out his phone and dialled Will and noticed there had been a new update on the Dragons website, by author Kilgar, A. His breath caught. Kilgar always wrote about superheroes, and his latest favourite topic was The Prince. Merlin couldn't wait to see.

But no, Merlin would save the article for the flight. Will came first. He owed him an apology for standing him up. At least he knew that Will would not be angry with him. Sure, he would complain and probably bring it up for years to come, but Will was good for that: not minding that a mate had missed a night in the pub in order to get laid because he would have done the same. Had done in fact, several times in the past.

The phone connected and Merlin heard a grunt from the other end of the line.

"Shake a leg, Will," Merlin chirped into the phone, deliberately cheery just to mess with him.

“You didn't show last night.” Will's voice was slow and gritty through the line. Merlin had probably woken him up with his call; it was early enough for him to have still been asleep at this time.

“Sorry. I was there early and met this fit bloke...”

"Say no more," Will interrupted his explanation. "I want no details about that. What I want details on is what's going on with you? You promised you'd tell me face-to-face and now you're probably off again. Are you already at the airport?"

"On my way there." Merlin estimated a good half hour if the traffic remained the same.

"That means you have the time now," Will said, as though he had read his thoughts. "So tell me why you're being fired?"

Merlin sighed heavily. "I'm not being fired," he objected. "The Wyvern is going to be decommissioned. They are building a new one but it'll take years until it's space-worthy and until then I'll be relegated to a desk job, most likely, now that I'm without a co-pilot. Maybe I can help with the testing a little, once it's come far enough.”

"Why do I get the feeling that that's not what you want to do?" Will asked rhetorically. Merlin heard liquid sloshing in the background, probably tea being made, and suddenly felt a powerful yearning for a nice hot cuppa of his own. "And why are you without a co-pilot? Something happened to Mithi?"

Merlin grinned at the obvious worry in Will's tone. Never mind he had only met Mithian once, and even then only for ten minutes. Everyone has their own heroes.

"She decided the timing was convenient to start expanding the family. As far as I know, she is already up the duff."

Will hummed. "So what about this job interview?" he asked with a full mouth; the sounds of chewing came through the line clearly. Merlin's stomach growled in sympathy.

“It was what I expected. A little talk about experience, but I think they were just trying to get a feel for me personality-wise, as they already had my file. Then we talked about expectations, I had to undergo a quick medical to prove that I have no medical condition which would disqualify me - again, nothing my file wouldn't have told them - and that was that.”

"So does that mean you're in?"

"If I want to," Merlin said. Will of course knew him well enough to catch onto his hesitation.

"Well, why wouldn't you want to?" he asked.

"The machine they want me to fly is not a spacecraft," Merlin said, grimacing. "It's essentially a tricked-out airplane. They've showed me the specs and sure, it flies faster and has more high-tech, custom-built parts than commercial or even military planes, but still. This thing isn't likely to go into space. It can survive low Earth orbit but if it ends up there, it's more likely something has gone badly wrong."

"Still better than sitting on your arse and staring at a screen all day," Will said.

Merlin sighed. "I'd be a glorified chauffeur. Probably for a bored, rich bloke who wants to zip around the world in a superhero-plane. Or bored rich tourists who want to ride one."

"Or an actual superhero! Maybe you'll meet The Prince, ask him out, get rejected, and then I won't have to listen to you go on about your disgusting celebrity crush."

"Ha, you wish!"

“Seriously, I'd rather listen to a detailed account of your sex life than any more talk about celebrities.”  

“Well, as it turns out, there is a cross-over between them,” Merlin said a tad smugly. Will gave out an inquiring noise in-between crunching noises. “The bloke I took back to my hotel last night? It was none other than Draco Williams,” Merlin told him.

“The Draco Williams?” Will asked.

“Yup.”

“Huh. I thought he was a gimp.” There was a pause and Merlin could hear a laptop booting up and then sounds of typing. “He retired because he had that sclerosis...palsy thing, according to wikipedia. Same thing that Hawking bloke had. His last match, he could barely stand but he still won it, the slick bastard!” Will fell silent; Merlin thought probably lost in misty-eyed reminiscence. “Are you sure it was him and not someone who looked like him?”

“Hm,” Merlin said, taking in this new information. “Pretty sure.” Merlin, too, had remembered that the cause of the early retirement was some sort of illness, but asking about it to satisfy his curiosity had not seemed conductive to getting laid. “He seemed okay, though, nothing wrong with his co-ordination. Or his stamina.”

“TMI, mate, TMI!”

“Let's just say there would be one distinct benefit to my taking this job here.”

“Whoa! Is The Prince chopped liver now?”

Later, after Will had hung up on him, and Merlin was waiting at the terminal to board his plane, he finally read the new article and couldn't stop laughing. Chopped liver, indeed. Then he thought, with mild concern, that Will could never, under any circumstances, learn about this contest.

The consequences might be abysmal.

_****Here Be Dragons** ** _

_The Celebrity News_

_****Goodnight Sweet Prince!** ** ****  
** ** by Kilgar, A. _

_Can you believe it? A certain record label filed a cease and desist letter against our most favourite superhero for using a name to which they own the rights, or one which is so similar that it qualifies as “trademark dilution”._

_RIP “The Prince” – henceforth, you shall be called The Superhero Formerly Known as Prince._

_ Related: Twitter contest started by WilDai (youtube creator) to give The Prince a new name  _


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur dreaded the first real team meeting. It was not that he hated meetings or hated the thought of working together with other people - people like him - it was just that he had already met a few of them, and even in this very exclusive club, he felt a bit like an interloper.

The conference room was on the top floor of the Headquarters (it had acquired a capital letter in Arthur’s head as everyone referred to it as that). It was a corner room, facing northwest, with a row of windows on both sides giving enough light to make it seem even more spacious and airy. It had a large, rectangular table in the middle with built-in connectors for laptops and hand-held devices, but the cushioned chairs were lined up along the walls - more than the table could accommodate - with the idea that those who want to sit at the table would grab a chair for themselves.

Arthur was almost the first to arrive. Leon had been already in the room, arranging cups on a tray in front of a large espresso machine. He was wearing a suit and next to him, Arthur felt decidedly underdressed. Arthur had met Leon during his first day in the building. He had been the one to provide endless forms to fill out, the one who took him through all the bio-measurements for the security protocols and had smiled politely whenever he asked how much longer it would take until they were done. Now Arthur greeted him with a polite “good morning” and stepped up to the streamlined water dispenser, pressed the option for hot water and browsed the large selection of teas on the shelf beside it.

“We just got a new brand of Darjeeling,” Leon said fake-conversationally, in a tone which was designed to ingratiate. Arthur’s hand stopped over the wooden box. Arthur didn’t know why people seemed to think that winning a championship trophy or two would automatically mean he would put on airs. Or maybe it was because of all those articles and blog posts and tweets about The Prince, but that hadn’t been Arthur’s doing; if anyone was responsible for it then it was the agency. There was nothing worse than feeling pressured into living up to a stereotype, Arthur decided, and then picked out the breakfast blend he had been about to choose.

“Thanks, but I just need something strong to wake me up,” he said.

To his surprise, instead of acting displeased, Leon winked at him and gave him a real smile, and Arthur couldn’t escape the notion that he had just passed some sort of obscure vetting procedure.

The next one to arrive was a woman with piercing eyes and a powerful stride. She was dressed in a black ensemble of body-hugging jeans and high-necked jumper, hair recently cut short, so it was barely long enough to be tucked behind her ears. Her name was Morgause Clarke, and Arthur would have known her face even if he had not met her before personally - which he had, albeit only briefly, when she had moved into the flat above Arthur’s. He was trying not to stare but it was hard to do when one was virtually alone in a room with a former Hollywood star. Her expression did not invite conversation, so Arthur didn’t even try, and instead pretended to be engrossed in sipping his tea.

Rescue arrived shortly as two other people entered: a man and a woman. Arthur did not know who they were. They looked about ten years younger than Arthur, and dressed like uni students, too: the man (boy?) in baggy jeans and a black hoodie and the woman in a full track suit. She dragged two chairs to the table and sat down in one while the young man went to provide two cups of coffee - black for her and liberally splashed with sugar and cream for himself. Once he was sitting too, he looked around the table and greeted Arthur with a smile and a nod, which Arthur returned. Morgause gave him no response apart from pinning him with her unblinking gaze before turning towards his... friend? Girlfriend? Arthur couldn’t tell. The two women locked eyes and seemed to be occupied in a visual measuring of each other, as though to determine which one of them ranked higher. The young man, now left out, took care to slurp his coffee extra loudly.

The door opening broke the staring contest. It admitted three people, a woman and two men, one of whom was talking loudly about something or other he had done. He was tall, well-muscled and noticeably well-groomed, dressed fashionably in a shirt-slacks-knit jumper combo. Arthur had been introduced to him the previous day, and knew he wanted to be called Val - his full name was something longer and altogether more pretentious, but then Arthur reminded himself he really had no leg to stand on in that regard. Next to him the other man looked decidedly less glamorous: hair shorn unfashionably in what looked like a military haircut, and he was wearing a shirt and trousers in a matching light brown colour which resembled nothing less than a uniform. The only thing that broke the image were the white tennis shoes on his feet. He stood back and let their third companion pass through the door before him: a woman maybe a little older than Arthur, with long blond hair and large hoop earrings. She was wearing a blouse and dark trousers whose material swirled around her ankles, and a weary smile in response to what no doubt she had been forced to listen to. She took in the room with one glance and then used the opportunity of gathering refreshments to separate herself from her companions and sit next to Arthur with her own cup of tea. The loud one took a place at what he no doubt perceived as the head of the table and the other man sat apart from everyone else, facing the door.

“I’m Isolde.” The woman turned to Arthur with a smile and offered her hand for a quick handshake. Arthur took it bemusedly and introduced himself as well. “Please pretend that you know me and save me from this idiot.” Arthur laughed at that, which probably made the pretence of familiarity more convincing, exactly as she had intended.

They did not have time for a conversation any longer than that because then the door opened again, admitting the person in charge of the operation: a man dressed impeccably in a tailored suit and shined shoes, carrying an old-fashioned briefcase. Leon trailed after him. Arthur hadn’t even noticed him leaving.

“Everyone here?” the newcomer asked, not sounding as if he needed an answer. “Excellent. Then let’s begin, shall we?” He strode to the other end of the rectangle not occupied by Val, and put down his briefcase without opening it. He looked to be in his forties or fifties - it was hard to tell with all those anti-ageing treatments in these days and their varied results. The bags under his eyes suggested too much work and not enough sleep. His tone had a joviality to it which rang fake, but it was too soon to tell whether it was a mannerism aimed to deceive and ingratiate or just a means to combat his obvious fatigue.

“I am Agravaine Weary, as you all hopefully remember,” he began in the clipped tone of one who felt perpetually rushed, “and I’m going to be the co-ordinator of this little experiment, also known as the first super-powered emergency response team.”

There was a smattering of sniggers at the “super-powered” descriptive, which was understandable. All of them had grown up in a world where superheroes had ceased to be an integral part of reality before they were born to become the overused theme of a never-ending list of Hollywood blockbusters. The Great Purge was something they had learnt about in history classes and MAGIC was known as a deadly disease of the past, something which had caused the deaths of a lot of people - a number of them within their own extended families - but couldn’t possibly happen today, because no one whom the designer virus could have targeted - people who had possessed such powers - had been left alive.

This illusion had been permitted to persist only until a standard medical screening had discovered MAGIC as the underlying cause behind a recent - and possibly not even that serious-seeming - ailment which had befallen them. Soon, someone from the government had contacted them about a possible experimental treatment. At least that was how Arthur had ended up here, and he imagined everyone sitting in that room had similar experiences.

For Arthur, the problem began with losing co-ordination, worsening eyesight and tremors in his hand. His symptoms had been identified as caused by sudden bouts of hypoglycemia, which in turn had been caused by an “inborn error of metabolism”, for which there was no conventional cure. He had been told he would have to learn to live with it and handle the symptoms as well as he could.

And he had tried. He had quit his career; only one humiliating near-fiasco had been needed for him to realize he could not continue competing professionally. He had gone on a strict diet and regular exercise and his blood sugar still kept sliding down and up, inexplicably. He had been seen by many medical professionals and most of them had ascribed his episodes to his own irresponsibility, because diabetes did not work that way. Some had warned him about possible brain damage and paralysis, probably with the intention of scaring him into being more responsible, which worked wonders to exacerbate his - until then mild - OCD tendencies but did not help prevent the episodes at all. Over the course of three miserable years he had spent a lot of money on doctors and hospitals, none of which had been spent wisely. And then a man named Aredian White approached him about participating in a medical experiment funded by the government, promising to cure him.

The thing was, they had sat him down and told him up-front that they were treating him for MAGIC, which they had found to be the root cause of everything he had suffered from. And they had not lied to him about the side effects of such treatment, nor the fact that the treatment itself was aimed at enhancing these side-effects in order to resurrect the past super-powered bloodlines. (It had not been such a surprise to Arthur that apparently his family had been one: his father had told him that MAGIC had caused his mother’s death shortly after his birth.) They had told him that the condition of getting the treatment was that if they succeeded in switching on the genes in his DNA which had apparently given his ancestors super-human abilities, he would be expected to serve as law-enforcement officer employed by the government for the time it took to train him and the following five years.

Arthur had known all this when he had signed the papers. It was just that he had not believed anything could come of it.

 

#  ****\---** **

 

Somehow the pub became a thing. It started with Arthur and Isolde going for a nice, relaxing round after a particularly hassling team meeting. Val invited himself along, and after that, Arthur quickly extended the invite to the whole team, and somehow, despite the obvious tension between certain members, everyone ended up going.

The Indigo Sunrise was a different pub than the one Arthur had found right after he had moved in. It was even darker and dingier. Arthur had an unconfirmed suspicion that, originally, Isolde had chosen it for this quality, to quickly get rid of Val - but at least there was only one television screen and it was usually tuned to a news channel or sometimes to Animal Planet. The owner was a hard-faced, potty-mouthed woman named Katerina, who usually served drinks at the bar. She seemed to loathe sports broadcasts, and the lone waiter who worked the tables, a fellow named Jonas, didn’t seem to care about anything else.

There were no booths here. Instead their regular place became an old, rounded table, just large enough to fit the seven of them, or eight on the occasions when Isolde’s husband also tagged along.

After a few weeks, things settled more or less into a routine. Arthur wouldn’t have thought anything could be routine about being part of what essentially amounted to a bona fide superhero team. They were not allowed to refer to it as such, mind, lest it happened in public and they got slapped with another copyright infringement lawsuit. It was bad enough Arthur now needed a new code name.

Arthur’s team became his new family. Not in the overly sentimental TV movie-chosen family kind of way, more like the real-life kind whose members one just had to live with and learn to ignore their annoying qualities and petty hostilities – and there was a lot of that going around. They were forced together on a daily basis, both in an official capacity and in their private lives as they were all living in the same building, some of them on the same floor as Arthur.

Agravaine Weary, who embodied his name on a daily basis, frequently prattled on about the importance of preparedness and team work, and when that no longer seemed to get their attention, he was fond of reminding them of the failed attempt of trying to integrate them into separate special ops teams, and how much better they had it now. In a general sense, Arthur even agreed with him because that had been an unpleasant experience. Arthur had felt like an outsider, not even halfway through basic training, and if having been saddled with someone worse than a rookie had not made him everyone’s favourite, then being “so special” and being given what must have seemed as special treatment certainly made for a hostile welcome. Trying to keep his head down had only made things worse because not volunteering to take point in an operation when he hadn’t the first idea how to approach it had been perceived as not wanting to pull his weight. Compared to that, anything would have been an improvement.

Not that they were ready to be sent into action as a team yet. Most of their ‘team meetings’ had been thinly disguised lectures on all the things a special ops team needed to know, but mainly standard strategic approaches, as though any strategy relying on their abilities could be described as ‘standard’. It was like being back in university, only if Arthur had accidentally mixed up his lesson plan with someone else’s.

Their team leader was of course Morgause, now sitting with her back to the wall, in what counted as the darkest spot of the pub. She liked being recognised just as much as Arthur did - in other words, not at all - but while Arthur’s face was only known in a narrow circle of obscure sports fans, hers was known by anyone who ever turned on their television or subscribed to the newsfeeds. She was the only one among them whose civil identity had not been kept a secret. For that reason, she did not, strictly speaking, need a code name, but she had been called “Queen of Swords” for so long, the name had followed her from her fictional hero-ing career into her real-life one.

She had been the most logical choice as the team’s public face as not only did she have a ten-year long successful Hollywood career under her belt but also twenty years of competitive martial arts experience, which made her useful in ways Arthur wasn’t yet. Her newly uncovered superhuman ability was to summon troops to fight by her side as an extension of her will. She did not seem keen to demonstrate what exactly that meant, so they all had to take it at face value. She lived one floor above Arthur, in one of the larger flats, with her sister who was also under treatment for MAGIC but wasn’t part of the team. Arthur hadn’t met her yet; if Gwen, the resident nurse could be believed, she didn’t go out much.

At the moment, Morgause was drinking her lager and pretended to listen attentively to the news, but underneath Arthur could see a deep sense of boredom. It was also a possibility that she was daydreaming about having her favourite chocolate parfait or dismembering Val using only the nail of her little finger. As far as Arthur could tell, she had the same facial expression for all occasions.

__“In other news, the search to discover the whereabouts of the super-powered criminal named Mary Collins is still ongoing,”__ the reporter on the news was saying. In the background, a familiar face with a different haircut and maybe fewer wrinkles flashed up. __“Collins is suspected of the large-scale mind-manipulation which caused three deaths and nineteen injuries__ _ _last__ _ _Hallowe’en. On the night in question, she was almost captured by the__ _ _government agent with superhuman abilities__ _ _formerly known as The Prince, but in the emerging chaos, she managed to slip his grasp.”__

Arthur grimaced. It had been his first real assignment and he had no idea who he would be going up against - no one had, at that point. One would think the ability of making people fall asleep would be innocuous; all she had done until that point had been to knock out a couple of administrative workers in a hospital, get access to the patient administration software and change recommendations for her son’s treatment. He had also been suffering from MAGIC, but the deterioration of his immune system had progressed too far to make him a viable subject for the experimental treatment. No one would have even known if John Collins hadn’t fallen into a coma and died shortly afterwards during a routine preparatory step to the treatment, which should not have caused this to happen had his records been in order. This had started an investigation and led to her almost-capture.

The irony of the thing was, she hadn’t been considered a criminal then. The hospital would have dropped the court case against her without much persuasion needed. The reason they wanted to take her in had been that, with her son having had MAGIC, and the evidence recorded by the hospital cameras, they were pretty sure that she was one of the few who had survived the Purge with her ability intact. She would have made an invaluable test subject and her case could have helped further the effort towards reinstating the superhuman bloodlines.

Arthur’s personal recommendation would have been to write her a blooming email and ask her nicely, instead of sending an entire special ops squad on her just because they had been afraid she would flee and slip through their hands. Unfortunately the problem was still prevalent because even though Arthur had managed to catch up to her and deliver her to a police unit (unlike what the reporter had just said; she had come without any trouble, probably still reeling from the events), the police had managed to lose her later, on the way to the detention facility.

“I could have caught her,” Val bragged as he returned with the next round, holding the tray up above his head to most advantageously display his biceps despite the fact that the only attention he got was from Katerina – she was probably keeping an eye on him so if any glasses broke, she’d know whom to blame. “I’d have animated a hose or something similar. Looped it around her, so she couldn’t move.”

Val, whose full name was Valen Oliver Gaylord Stanley (Arthur still hadn’t been able to stop laughing about that) and insisted he wanted to be called Valiant, sat down to the empty place on Morgause’s left while she did her best to ignore the things that came out of his mouth.

Val’s ability was to animate inanimate objects, which would be probably really useful once he learnt to utilise it consistently. He had had a semi-successful modelling career (which explained his dress sense) and a tanked record deal, although as he told it, that could be blamed on the MAGIC. Maybe so. After all, there was no shortage among them of careers having been broken in half because of MAGIC.

Unfortunately, he was the only really talkative one among them, which meant they were frequently exposed to his opinions on things about which he had not the first idea.

“Because that would have stopped her from using her ability?” Isolde questioned, sounding mildly puzzled, but Val was the only one who couldn’t catch that it was meant as an insult to his intelligence. Or maybe he had caught it, but he just had a very thick skin. At times, Arthur got the feeling that Val was exactly aware of the reactions his thoughtless comments evoked and was doing it on purpose.

“What?” Val asked, throwing a peanut at her. “It’s not like our Prince was able to do anything useful. I read the report. If not for that Dread Pirate Roberts character who saved the day, half of London would have gone off in flames.” He looked at Arthur. “Does that make you Princess Buttercup, I wonder?”

“You shouldn’t use that name,” Arthur reminded him, deflecting the real question behind the mocking. In his report, he had to make a detailed description of the events and the man dressed in a pirate costume who had suddenly appeared on the scene and stopped the lorry from crashing into the petrol station, and then had just walked off in the resulting chaos, but had no intention to talk about him in private. For one, Arthur had only seen him for a second, exchanged maybe five words with him, so it wasn’t as though he knew a lot about him. For another, it was only fodder for teasing, especially by someone like Val.

“It’s a little too Machiavellian, anyhow,” Morgause observed, referring to the name they were no longer permitted to use. Maybe she had caught Arthur’s intent and decided to help him out.

“Well, what else do we call him?” Val asked Morgause. “I vote for Princess Buttercup.”

Arthur groaned. Knowing his luck, that name was going to stick.

“I could have tried and knocked her out,” Gilli - the man who had looked on the first day like someone imitating a soldier – said, ignoring Val entirely. His name was Gil Cohen and he had been apparently serving in the Israel Defence Forces before Aredian White had recruited him, which earned him the hated nickname “Wonder Woman” from Val. It had created some bad blood between them. As revenge, Gilli called Val Valerie and Valma; that it failed to get a raise out of him, only angered Gilli further. He had some very limited telekinesis, mostly restricted to pushing things (and people) around. Still, that could have worked, Arthur agreed silently.

“And then what, Gal?” Val questioned, not liking that he wasn’t the centre of the attention. “We could have been picking her brain from the pavement so the labcoats could figure out what made her tick.”

“It’s Gil.” There was an audible grating noise and Val’s chair moved back a foot. Val’s face turned splotchy purple; he seemed out of breath all of a sudden. Gilli must have focussed his power on Val’s chest, Arthur reckoned. Arthur strongly hoped that by the time he learnt to fully control his telekinesis, he’d also learn not to react to each one of Val’s deliberate jibes.

“Boys,” Morgause warned before Val could have retaliated, possibly by animating Gilli’s beer glass to bite his nose or something equally immature and petty. They were not supposed to use their abilities in public, even if they were presently the pub’s only patrons.

Arthur knew the ceasefire wouldn’t last long. Both Val and Gil considered themselves above the other. Gil thought Val was a ponce and Val thought Gil was an uncultured peasant. Thankfully they had disregarded Arthur as a potential contender for the alpha male position on account of his sexual preferences, and Mordred - the boy who had looked like a university student who had skipped out on lecture in order to attend the first team meeting - because he was young and looked harmless when he smiled. But the fact was that neither of them would ever become top dog on a team which contained Morgause and, to a smaller measure, Kara, the girl who had arrived with Mordred.

They were just now entering the pub, just as if they had been summoned by Arthur’s thoughts. They spent most of their time in each other’s company, probably because everyone else on the team was a good ten years older.

They had been imported from Japan, both accomplished martial artists in their own rights. Her ability was super strength and quicker reflexes but only when she got enraged. She had taken the name “Bloodlust” and wore it with a kind of twisted pride that did not appeal to Arthur. Val had only had to call her “Baby Hulk” once to learn that he couldn’t take her in a fight, even though afterwards he had pretended to have lost on purpose, saying he couldn’t have beaten up a girl. That comment only earned him her special brand of dislike.

Scorn and disdain seemed to be Kara’s two main modes of interaction, which could have been funny in someone who didn’t possess a combination of superhuman physical strength and an unparalleled skill in hand-to-hand combat. Even Mordred only got her disregard most of the time. Mordred seemed like a decent person when Arthur had talked to him, if a bit shy. Arthur had no idea why he was so hung up on her. It was probably because, as Arthur had gathered, she had been some sort of mentor to him in his martial arts studies.

Another thing which made Arthur feel inadequate compared to the rest that most of them had some sort of combat experience. Gilli in the army, Morgause, Mordred and Kara in competitions. Isolde, who used to be a circus acrobat, had the training of a gymnast, could throw knives blindfolded, and shoot her telekinetically enhanced bolts with a precision and confidence which was hard to imitate. Even though close combat wasn’t her forte, her reflexes were good enough that she could avoid getting hit even by a training partner like Kara, and get far or high enough to shoot her crossbow. The only one who was on Arthur’s beginner level was Val, and Arthur didn’t like comparing himself to him for reasons that should not need an explanation.

They had a mixed martial arts instructor, a bloke named Gwaine, who practised with the team four times a week and gave Arthur and Val separate lessons. He seemed decent. Almost everyone liked him, even Val, whom he frequently showed up in demonstrations. Nevertheless, Val regarded him as a rival, which Gwaine probably found amusing. Kara seemed to openly disdain him, but once lecture started, she followed his instructions without a word, although with an expression on her face as though she smelt something bad. Gilli got on with Gwaine really well, exchanging techniques between their two styles. Mordred was always very polite with him, and got freely complimented in exchange. Gwaine openly appreciated Isolde’s physique and playfully flirted with her even though he knew she had a husband. On the other hand, he had a frankly embarrassing and badly concealed crush on Morgause.

Arthur had the feeling Gwaine didn’t quite know how to relate to him. On one hand, Arthur was as much of a beginner as Val. On the other hand, Gwaine couldn’t really hurt him, short of setting him on fire, not that he had tried to do any real damage. Whenever he downed Arthur, Arthur just stood right back up, ready to receive corrections on the faults in his technique. This behaviour kind of threw Gwaine and gained his respect, which Arthur felt he had not deserved.

Kara arrived to their table, with Mordred in tow, just when tensions between Val and Gil began to heat up again, and thankfully provided distraction, mostly by means of cleavage.

“Maybe Mordred could have talked her down without anyone directly approaching,” Arthur said into the sudden conversational void.  Fact was, none of their abilities seemed very useful against someone who could make one fall asleep just because she had willed it so.

Mordred gave him a smile, even though he probably had no idea what Arthur was talking about. Kara gave Arthur a frown, but Arthur didn’t let it bother him.


	4. Chapter 4

Only two weeks after Merlin had bought his new house in Kensington, Greater London found itself in the middle of a drinking water crisis. For an entire week Merlin failed to notice it. He had just started in his new job and he was too busy learning to pilot a prototype plane with extra bells and whistles - some of whose functions he hadn’t even been told yet, some of which he had been told of but hadn’t been installed yet. What he really liked in his new job was that they actually asked his opinion about it. They didn’t just want a pilot; they wanted a specialist. They wanted input on how to build their prototype to get the maximum manoeuvrability out of it, to make it the quickest, most ergonomic, most cutting edge, and generally most awesome plane in the world. And they let Merlin play with the different designs.

Even though he wasn’t a rocket scientist and didn’t have years of aerospace engineering experience, he had enough engineering background to understand the basic concepts, and knew where he liked to find what controls. So even if he missed the thrill of leaving Earth’s atmosphere and escaping the clutches of her gravity, he had enough replacement toys to play with to fill his days. All in all, he spent all his time between work and his bed at his new home, which he had been lucky to buy already furnished, otherwise he might have had to sleep on the floor, possibly in a nest of clothes after emptying all his suitcases in the middle of the bedroom, or worse: on Will’s couch.

After the first week, though, the drinking water wasn’t the only thing affected. First, Merlin noticed the prevalence of bottled water everywhere he went; he thought nothing of it past a sudden rise in health-conscious living. Maybe it was some sort of global awareness day. But then he also noticed a certain smell becoming stronger and stronger, first only in certain parts of London he travelled through every day to and from work, then suddenly it was everywhere: the smell of sewage. That was when the city began to have more than just a drinking water problem, and the news Merlin listened to during the morning rush began mentioning something they called “the Greater Stink”.

Next came the reports about mass bacterial and viral outbreaks of waterborne pathogens in hospitals and kindergartens and seemingly random housing blocks all over the town, and even from batches of bottled water. At this point the general air of anxiety couldn’t have avoided even Merlin’s notice. He started contemplating mass-ordering bottles of Fiji Water on Amazon, and then suddenly there was an announcement on all the news outlets that the danger has been averted thanks to the heroic effort of London’s first superhuman emergency response team since the Great Purge, who had defeated the culprit in a valiant showdown at the Beckton Sewage Treatment Works.

“How come they’re not even showing the footage?” Merlin whined to Elena. They both stood at the back of the cafeteria, alongside the full complement of the engineering and support personnel, where the 60 inch television blew up the face of the news reporter to inhuman proportions. “British television should be overflowing with them. Is this any way to promote the first ever superhero team since... forever?” He still obsessively checked the Dragons blog for news on The Prince (or whatever he was going to be called) but he had seen no mention of this development that morning, so it must have happened during the day. He hoped someone would have uploaded a CCTV recording at least.

“They were on the Elyan Brown Show last Friday,” Elena said, conversationally.

“They were?”

“Didn’t you watch?” Elena swatted at Merlin’s arm but didn’t hit. Her momentum carried her forward and Merlin grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall on her face. “Thanks,” she said, and smoothed down her padded coveralls. She wasn’t an engineer, she only covered the phones, but she was required to wear special protective gear because she had had so many accidents that workplace insurance refused to cover her any other way without a sizeable premium.

Merlin tried to think about what he did last Friday, and couldn’t come up with anything past work and sleep. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know what day it was today. He shook his head.

“I’ll have to find the clip on YouTube,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Or you could come with me to the pub tonight and watch the replay,” Elena offered, having been close enough to overhear him.

_“…dispatched contingents of a skeleton army to fight the threat. They are not hostile, we repeat, the skeletons pose no danger to civilians unless provoked. They are being recalled as we speak, so the streets and underground stations should be free of them by this time tomorrow. And now…”_

Merlin looked at her, grimacing. This part was always awkward. (The news reporter was now listing water sources which were safe to drink.) “I’m sorry, I don’t swing that way.”

Elena waved him off (Merlin caught her wrist before the heel of her hand made contact with his nose). “I know,” she said, not even seeming to notice her almost-mishap. “Not where I was going with this, mate. But the point is, The Prince is going to be there!” She grinned, and Merlin couldn’t help grinning back. “I know, right?” She responded to his unvoiced reaction, which – in his head – sounded embarrassingly like a thirteen-year-old fangirl squeeing and jumping up and down. And then something in the newscast caught his ear.

“Wait, did she just say ‘skeleton army’?”

Elena nodded uncertainly, and then they both turned back towards the television, just when the news broadcast switched to a string of advertisements, featuring several brands of bottled water, fruit juice and, finally, a home water purifier.

“Well,” Merlin said. The cafeteria was emptying; most of the other people were returning to their workplaces or getting ready to leave, as it was already past 5 p.m.

“So, what do you say?” Elena asked. “Pub after work?”

Merlin opened his mouth to decline by reflex but then he stopped, realising he had no real reason to. Instead of going back to his lonely house to look for further news on the internet, he could spend the night making a new friend, in the company of a stout, and watching his celebrity crush (damn you, Will) answer questions on the TV.

“All right, I’m in.”

#  ****\---** **

The pub was not what Merlin had expected. What he had expected had been maybe a sports bar (an import idea from all the years he had spent overseas) or the local equivalent of it - a little darker, with a slightly different selection of spirits, but essentially the same. What he got instead was something smaller but felt almost like a family establishment. There were only about twenty patrons around, and only two people (both women) who were dressed to the nines. The rest were all coming in from work, just like Merlin and Elena.

They had arrived a bit early. The television was turned to the BBC, still showing news bites and shaky videos made with phones, of animated human skeletons trooping in dark alleys. They looked like twentieth-century stop motion horror films. Merlin couldn’t help it; he had to stop and look, until he felt Elena’s hand on him tugging him to follow in her wake.

To his surprise, she navigated them (entirely without accident) to a table which was already occupied by two people: a blond woman who looked like a seasoned P.A. with a practical dress sense and a bit of a fitness obsession, and a man with neatly groomed hair and designer stubble, who wore a fancy white shirt unbuttoned at the neck to show off the curvature of his pecs. He had a definite flair about him, but not in a way to make a ping on Merlin’s gaydar. There were mutual greetings and curious looks thrown Merlin’s way. Just before they could have got to the introductions, they were joined by two other men carrying glasses. The first one had an ordinary face, a retro chequered shirt, and an indefinite gawkiness about how he held himself, even though his musculature was well-defined under those clothes. The second one, to Merlin’s surprise, was none other than Arthur. Merlin noticed that Arthur was carrying a glass of wine and two pints while the other man was carrying two, and wondered whether they had been expecting Elena to show up and his appearance came as an unwelcome surprise, but that uncomfortable notion disappeared as soon as Arthur’s gaze met his own.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s face lit up with genuine delight when he spotted Merlin. He put down the drinks and stepped up to Merlin as if to give him a hug, and then stopped, halfway there, with his arms held out awkwardly and his cheeks infused with a somewhat darker colouration. Merlin smiled and finished the move for him, neatly sidestepping well-cultivated British sensibilities.

“Hey,” Arthur said, grinning when Merlin concluded the embrace with a kiss on his cheek, turning his head to reciprocate. It ended up slightly more intimate than the one Merlin had been aiming for: a friendly greeting between two people with a bit of a history. From the way Arthur’s lips landed unapologetically across his own, it seemed Arthur wouldn’t mind if that history repeated itself. Well. Merlin felt a thrill of possibilities. Arthur was every bit as deliciously solid and warm as he had remembered it. Although he must have been a bit cold, dressed down as he was; Merlin could feel his peaked nipples through the body-hugging cotton t-shirt he wore. Merlin took off his peacoat and jokingly pretended to use Arthur as a coat hanger. It was decidedly not about staking claim, at all. And he did not feel a strange sense of relish when Arthur snuggled into it as he sat down.

“So you two know each other?” Elena asked, peeking up at them curiously.

“We met when I was here for my job interview,” Merlin said, and then turned around to the other three and introduced himself. “I’m Merlin. Nice to meet you all.”

It turned out the woman’s name was Isolde and the two men (who chose chairs with the apparent objective to put the most space achievable between them) were Gil (or Gilli) and Val (or something Merlin didn’t understand because everyone else suddenly had the urge to talk over it).

“Sit down, Merlin.” Arthur stood up. He patted Merlin’s shoulder and then pushed him down into the chair next to the one he had just vacated. “I’ll go get you and Elena something to drink. Beers good?” Merlin nodded, and Arthur was off (Merlin’s coat left behind on the back of his chair), presenting Merlin with a titillating view of his rear as he departed. Merlin suspected it was entirely deliberate.

When Merlin finally turned back, he saw that the last pint glass had been placed in front of an empty chair next to Isolde.

“Keeping the chair free for my husband, if he ever gets here,” she said when she noticed him looking. She added a shrug as though she wasn’t certain that would happen.

“Stuck at work?” Merlin asked, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy.

“You wouldn’t believe the things they make him do, even though he’s just been promoted to Chief Inspector.” Merlin could tell that she was trying to sound sarcastic instead of boastful but the pride hiding in her smile was unmistakable. He thought it was sweet.

“Yeah, like what?” Merlin prompted, hoping to hear a good story. It had the beginnings of one. “Passing out parking tickets? Surely not.”

Isolde snorted indelicately. “More like herding skeletons with Morgause.”

“What? Really?” Merlin was aware he probably looked like a starstruck teenager, but he couldn’t help it.

“Oh, god!” Her eyes became large and somewhat alarmed. “Tell me you’re not one of those fans!” she shuddered theatrically.

“Can’t help it,” Merlin shrugged, trying for apologetic but knowing he didn’t really succeed. “When I was little, my best friend introduced me to classical comic books - you know the ones with all those improbable superheroes in skin tight leotards. There was no return from that, I’m afraid.”

She seemed to appreciate his sense of humour, even if not the reason for it. Well, no one was perfect.

She turned back to the television and Merlin followed his example. It seemed the news was also aimed to set the mood for the following interview because they were talking about related topics.

_“As a follow-up to the events of last Halloween’s supervillain attack, the Office of the Mayor of London has finalized the decision to ban cars which operate with internal combustion engines from the City of London. The ban also extends to vehicles used to transport heavy cargo. By February 1, the only vehicles allowed within city limits - and in two years’ time within the limits of Greater London - are going to be electric vehicles. According to data collected from car insurance companies, only 10% of the cars in the UK still use liquid fuel, and the percentage is smaller in the capital. Those who cannot afford to upgrade will be able to apply for partly-government-sponsored loans, and Oyster cards will be charged with a reduced fare during the weekday morning and afternoon rush. Also, Transport for London has announced a tender for the further acquisition of 10,000 self-driving cars to be put in operation in the public transport system during the following year.”_

Arthur returned, sliding two glasses in front of Merlin and Elena and using the excuse to touch Merlin again. Merlin was getting a definite vibe, and he couldn’t say he minded it.

“So where is Mordred?” Elena was asking, to which the man in the chequered shirt answered something about hospital, but Merlin only listened with half an ear because the TV started playing the beginning notes of the Elyan Brown Show.

“So I gather you got the job?” Arthur asked, leaning very close. Merlin nodded with his eyes still on the TV screen, and then turned to Arthur because he didn’t want to seem rude or standoffish.

“Sorry, I just really wanted to see this interview, and Elena talked me into watching it here, instead of at home.”

“Oh, dear. You are a fan,” Arthur whispered into his ear dryly, his hot breath in Merlin’s ear making him shiver, but didn’t continue the conversation. Merlin had a feeling he was just as put out by it as Isolde. He found himself not caring all that much.

The interview turned out to be rather less interesting than Merlin had anticipated. Morgause Clarke was the only one whose face was shown (apart from the host). The other six were all wearing some sort of masks and shapeless black coveralls, and when they talked, their voices were digitally distorted. The interview was probably scripted, or at least they had told Elyan what questions he was allowed to ask, and he stuck to them. The team members were mostly asked to introduce themselves and say a few words about their abilities, which they did, confining themselves to the very basics.

There were four men and two women - as far as all the disguises allowed to tell. Merlin tried to listen and remember them but their answers were so generic that they were just not very memorable.

There was one who demonstrated his ability by making Elyan’s mic bend itself around his fingers, making it look disturbingly like a sad, limp metallic penis. There was a bout of suppressed laughter from various team members while everyone tried very hard not to make that comparison out loud. Another shot a pen cap from a rubber band, which then melted into the carpet - Merlin had no idea what sort of ability that was supposed to demonstrate, and apparently he wasn’t alone with that because he heard Isolde giggle painfully with second-hand embarrassment. After that, there were no other requests for cutesy demonstrations.

When it was The Prince’s turn, Merlin was once again disappointed. Not just about the lack of answers but also because he had thought he’d recognise the man’s voice if he heard it again, even through the distortion, but no such recognition came. He felt unaccountably sad about it and concluded that his little obsession was perhaps going a bit too far.

_“I hear you’re no longer using your previous name,”_ Elyan prompted, and Merlin sat up straighter at that. _“How are you called now?”_

The ex-Prince seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat before answering.

__“_ I don’t have a new code name yet,” _he said, shrugging, and not providing many openings to carry the conversation further.

_“Something similar to your previous code name perhaps?”_ Elyan tried. _“How did you choose it? What was your motivation?”_

_“I didn’t. It was just given to me.”_

_“I see.”_

And that seemed to conclude the conversation.

The only one about whom they talked longer was Morgause. It was plain to see that she had practice with the media; her answers were very diplomatic and didn’t say much. The host asked her about her filming career (“I enjoyed making movies”), whether she planned to return to it (“we’ll see”), whether she was still getting scripts (“I don’t know, my agent handles it”), whether she would take breaks from the team in order to make films (“unlikely”). When it came to her abilities, she demurred from demonstrating, saying the studio wasn’t the right place for it. Merlin remembered the interview was filmed last week, before the skeletons all over London gave evidence of her powers.

When the segment ended, Elyan closed up by listing his next guests, Sophia Black, the reality TV star and WillDai the most-subscribed British youtuber who made video commentaries about celebrity news, and lately, about the new generation superheroes. So basically, someone like a less eloquent, more exhibitionistic Kilgar, A. Merlin’s attention wandered back to Arthur who had remained considerately quiet all through the interview, sipping his wine and making no secret of his designs on Merlin.

“Well, that was disappointing.” Merlin sighed.

“I know something to make up for it,” Arthur suggested.

“So sure of yourself,” Merlin said, grinning, and got a slap on his shoulder from Elena for his trouble.

“Oh, just say yes and go get laid,” she said in her best exasperated voice. “If anyone, I would know just how much you need it.”

“Oi!” Merlin made a token protest but he was already standing up and reclaiming his coat from Arthur, who was getting a similar ribbing from his friends except for Val who had got up to get some drinks in the middle of the interview and hadn’t come back. Merlin spotted him at the bar, trying to sweet-talk the woman who served the drinks into something, possibly freebies and, judging by her bored expression, not making much of an impression.

“Don’t mind him,” Isolde told Merlin, “we’ll make your excuses to him. If he even notices you’re gone.” Her tone suggested that she did not rate the chances very high on that.

And then they were gone.

This time Merlin called a taxi - a driverless one. He was aware that if anything, it would provide less privacy as the automated cars always had security cameras, but there were laws in place which regulated how long a footage could be kept if it had recorded no lawbreaking, and even the operating companies were aware that one of the main commercial appeals of driverless taxi services was the illusion of privacy they provided. Still, porn sites were full of recordings of people having all-out sex in automated cars, and even if the majority of them had been professionally made (there was no way a car security camera could get those angles), some of them looked real enough, and Merlin had no intention of ending up in one.

Arthur was apparently on the same page. He sat close to Merlin and there was some kissing, some groping, but all of it remained very over-the-clothes, even though Arthur’s palm eventually slid under Merlin’s coat between his legs and rubbed him until he was seconds away from coming in his pants. Merlin stopped him by squeezing around his wrist and Arthur obligingly removed his hand and let Merlin cool down a bit until they arrived in front of his house, though not without giving him a smug curl of his lips. Merlin was getting a strong indication about the shape of things to come.

Although their momentum faltered somewhat when Merlin led Arthur to his house. While Merlin was searching for his keys, Arthur took a few steps back and looked up.

“Is this really where you live?” he asked with a tinge of disbelief.

“What of it?” Merlin said. He finally found his keys and located the locks they fit into, while strongly considering the benefits of upgrading to a fully electronic system. “I needed a place quickly and it was available.”

“Just how much money do you have?” Arthur asked. “I never asked after that job, but I’m really hoping you weren’t interviewing with the Mafia.”

Merlin laughed. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he said, making Arthur groan. “Do you want to shag or not? Then hurry up!”

“Coming,” Arthur cried and jogged to the door, flattening Merlin against the frame.

“I sure hope you’ll last a little longer.” Merlin laughed and disentangled himself, and stepped inside.

They started out in a sixty-nine position. Merlin heard only encouraging noises from Arthur when he slid a finger into him, but from his previous encounter he knew Arthur liked a wide range of stimulation. Merlin didn’t go any further than one finger and instead spread his legs wide and let Arthur prepare him, then allowed himself be wrestled onto his back, watching Arthur’s sweat-shined muscles flex in the half-light. He waited until Arthur put on a condom, and then pulled him down and gave himself entirely into getting pounded into next week. (Since it was Friday, he thought if he played his cards right, that might not even turn out that much of an exaggeration.)

The next morning Merlin woke up to the unparalleled sight of Arthur rubbing his cock while watching Merlin with appreciative eyes. He had kicked off the covers; his arms were dotted with goose bumps and his nipples had contracted to peaks in the cool morning air. He was being considerate, trying not to wake him up, being quiet and not moving the bed too much. Merlin was still half-asleep when he found himself asking, “Do you have anywhere important to be over the weekend?”

Arthur smiled and confidently answered, “on your cock,” making Merlin groan in a sudden surge of lust, and then laugh until his stomach hurt because it sounded so unbelievably corny, as though Arthur had taken a quote out of a porno. One of those whose makers know they don’t even have a shot at portraying realism, so instead of making a pretence of it, they go in the opposite direction. What they end up producing is a cross between Monty Python and porn meta, featuring an excess of naked skin and body fluids.

So all in all, Merlin’s weekend went rather well. At least until Arthur got a call from his boss who told him he needed to come into work urgently.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said to Merlin, standing half out of the door while he waited for his taxi.

“It happens. I might be the one to get a call like that the next time.”

“So there will be a next time?” Arthur sounded hopeful. “Maybe we could go on a date?”

Merlin was on the verge of saying “sure” when he heard the second question which hit him like sudden icy torrent.

“Um,” he hedged. “I like you, it’s just that I work a lot. I don’t know if I’d have time to go on dates.”

Merlin was aware he was turning down Arthur in favour of someone who would remain forever unreachable and unknown, but he couldn’t help feeling that if he had said yes, he would have been stringing him along while wishing for someone else to be in his place. It was more than pathetic.

“I’ll give you my number,” he continued, because it did convey some degree of attachment as opposed to messaging each other through a hook-up app, trying to work around the sudden drop in temperature which had nothing to do with the late autumnal wind outside his house. “Text me some time and we might be able to arrange something.”

Arthur didn’t say anything but dutifully gave Merlin his phone and pocketed it wordlessly afterwards. Merlin had a feeling it would take a while for Arthur to get over his rejection and actually put it to use - if he ever did.

Merlin spent the rest of the afternoon watching the news and looking for video clips on the internet about his favourite superhero (and his team) responding to a hold up in a pawn shop and taking down a man who had tried to pawn off various objects, insisting they were made of gold. Except they turned back into whatever they had been originally made of once he stopped touching them, and he had got upset when the owner had called the cops.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur couldn’t help feeling that he was committing some kind of faux pas by not visiting the man who had got shot in the pawn shop mission. Arthur had not been the reason the man had got shot, but he had got shot by friendly fire, so he felt at least a little responsible. Also, as luck would have it, he had turned out to be Gwen’s father (she had told them to drop the ‘Nurse’ or else).

Arthur had got to know her very well during the weeks since he had moved in. She was the assistant of the geneticist specialist, Doctor Caius Evans, who had worked for twenty years to find a cure for MAGIC before the government had taken notice of his discoveries, given him funding and a research team, and helped him create the treatment they were currently using. Arthur had both regularly scheduled appointments as well as impromptu visits with her at the small clinic within the Headquarters to check up on his health, take his blood and other vitals, and adjust the level of his medications accordingly.

In the wake of last night’s failure, and Merlin’s clumsy rejection beforehand, he wasn’t the best company to be around. He skipped out on the pub-going (and apparently missed out on witnessing as Val tried to make a play for Katerina and fell on his face - as Isolde told him during the next day). Even Mordred noticed Arthur’s listlessness, even though he himself wasn’t in the best moods either, in the wake of what had happened to Kara.

Kara had taken ill as a direct result of the Afanc case. MAGIC had given her an autoimmune disease, which the treatment tried to combat with drugs that had weakened her immune system. Still, she would have probably been fine if she hadn’t gone against a direct order and attacked the monster head-on, but by that time, her gift had made her unable to be reasoned with. The Afanc had knocked her out, but did not injure her grievously. Instead, she ended up catching pneumonia as a result of getting too close to a critical mass of infectious agents which the Afanc carried.

Arthur hadn’t visited her either, but somehow, that didn’t cause him too much guilt. Besides, Mordred probably made up for missed visits not only by the entire team but possibly also the entire personnel within the Headquarters.

Arthur could tell he was really moping when even Gwaine took notice of his unusual lack of dedication. His suggested cure was to “go out, get drunk, get laid and get over it”. And then he demonstrated what he meant by flirting with Gwen, then getting rejected in the nicest way possible.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do him,” she told Arthur later while she was drawing his blood, “he was just coming on too strongly. Wouldn’t do to make him think I’m easy.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, and his tone must have been telling because it drew curious glances from her.

“Is that why you’ve been down lately?” she asked, and Arthur fought against the urge to stiffen up and brush her off. She gave him an encouraging smile and patted his arm reassuringly. “Whoever it was, give him a call. Don’t just give up on him! It’s not becoming to someone who eats criminals for breakfast.”

Arthur sputtered at that but later that night, he found himself taking out his phone, searching for Merlin’s number and sending him a short text.

Merlin didn’t answer right away, but when he did, he seemed glad that Arthur had written him, but begged off from catching up because of work. Arthur waited for a week before giving up.

And that was that. Arthur had tried.

 

#  ****\---****

Like most of the times of late when Arthur needed to get a reality check and stop being self-pitying, he booked an appointment with his therapist.

It was a funny thing. Before his illness, and even though all the misery and heartache that had come with it, Arthur had never felt the need to visit a therapist. And then Aredian White found him, and he signed the contract, got treatment which more or less restored his health, and a cool new superpower as a bonus. And then he had expected to be put to work as some sort of super secret super agent, but instead he got told that his psych evaluation came back suggesting mental issues that could be potentially problematic in his future line of work, and he’d need to work those out first.

Arthur hadn’t contested any of it. His mother had died in childbirth, after all, and his father had found it easier to deal with his problems by not acknowledging them and instead making a living of dealing with other people’s, so he had quit his government job, started a private practice, and practically abandoned Arthur into the care of public schools and private tutors, occasionally in a position to dispense the salient but generic life advice, which Arthur had - more frequently than not - found inapplicable for the specific situation. Generally, it wouldn’t have been expected to come out on the other side of that without any baggage.

What had been entirely unexpected had been finding himself sitting in a smooth white leather chair within that very same practice, with his father positioned opposite him, ready to hammer out Arthur’s life for him, as though Arthur had been a stranger. The only redeeming value of that experience had been that Uther had been even more taken aback, so much so that he had almost forgot his professional distance. Someone in the administrative office hadn’t done their homework, Arthur reckoned.

Arthur had never bothered to tell, because, against all odds, Uther was just the exact therapist Arthur had needed.

What had started as a strange mistake had turned into an unexpected opportunity for father and son to reconnect. Uther apparently found it easier to relate to his own son in a professional setting (Arthur wondered how Uther’s therapist felt about that), and slowly but surely, they found their way towards a closer and less dysfunctional relationship than they had ever before cultivated. Arthur was now actually sharing specifics about his life with his father rather than pretending to be the perfect son Uther had occasionally expressed a wish to have, and Uther seemed to start seeing Arthur as a son, rather than a living reminder of his own failure decades past, and actually enjoy the experience.

It had to be said that Arthur was now much more capable of dealing with the occasional salient life advice than he had been as a teenager. Contrarily, Uther was much less prone to dispersing them.

“You know, Dr Nimueh Connor is one of the doctors supervising my treatment,” Arthur told Uther after Uther had asked why Arthur was reluctant to talk about his treatment. “She and Dr Caius Evans.”

“She is?” Uther asked, fighting to keep his tone neutral. “She is a good doctor. She wasn’t to blame for what happened to your mother. I was the one who advised the Department of Health against telling the world at large about MAGIC, only to a select group of health professionals. It seemed like the right decision at the time - not wanting to cause panic. And MAGIC might have killed your mother eventually, but MAGIC was also what made her possible to carry you to term. She used to be depressed before she got pregnant. This way, she got to hold you in her arms before she went. For that I’ll never be not grateful.”

Arthur had never before heard his father talk about his mother in so many words.

“So this Merlin,” Uther began, then put aside his iPad and uncrossed his legs, switching gears from mental professional to father mode. “Have I ever met him?” he wondered, as though he had ever met any of Arthur’s boyfriends before Uni. Uther hadn’t even known he was gay until he had turned twenty. A glance of Arthur was enough to convey this. “Right,” Uther said, as though he had merely forgotten.

“So tell me about him,” he said. “Not as your therapist but... as a convenient ear, if you will.”

Arthur hadn’t planned to, but somehow he found himself opening up and pouring out all of his grief and frustration regarding Merlin, and of course Uther took it with aplomb.

“You know, people can have many reasons for the decisions they make, including needing time to process a new situation.” Uther said after the torrent of Arthur’s words finally dried up.

“So you’re saying I should sit back and wait it out?”

“I am saying no such thing. I’m merely suggesting you might not have all the relevant information and the perspective to correctly evaluate the situation.”

In the end, he refrained from giving Arthur any suggestions on how to deal with the situation, but it didn’t matter. Arthur felt better just for having talked about it.

 

#  ****\---****

Two days later he got an entirely unsolicited text from Merlin, waking him up at one in the morning, containing the word “finally”, surrounded by a throng of different emojis, some which Arthur had never seen before, but the ones which represented emotions seemed to convey merriness.

__You seem cheerful__ , Arthur wrote back, now thoroughly woken up and somewhat intrigued.

__My plane is nearly ready to fly!!!!__  was the answer he got back. After a bit of puzzlement followed by a sudden note of dismay that Merlin might be getting ready to leave England again, Arthur decided to take Uther’s advice and not jump to any conclusions, instead just ask.

__Your plane?,__  he typed in quickly, but Merlin must have gone to bed because no answer came. After an hour of waiting and trying to quiet his mind from listing all the possibilities, Arthur fell back asleep.

The next day around noon, he got another text from Merlin but it was not an answer to his last question. Instead it was just Merlin apologising for presumably having woken up Arthur. And then, for days, nothing. In the meantime, Arthur was distracted from worrying too much by several smaller assignments.

There was a brief resurgence of the things that happened during the water crisis, but thankfully, it turned out not another Afanc but a copy-cat: a bloke who could somehow control bugs (the invertebrate kind, not the pathogenic kind) and sent them out to transmit illnesses, but its spread stayed well within the borders of Hackney.

When one more week passed without hearing anything from Merlin, and he had once again too much free time to dwell on things, Arthur decided to brave something he should have done ages ago, and took out his phone. The text he sent was the result of two and a half hours of sweating over it, but once it was done, Arthur quickly pushed the send button before he could have got cold feet.

__I think I owe you a confession. When we first met and you said I looked familiar, I thought you might have recognised me from when we were in school together._ _

This was around four in the afternoon, and the answer came almost instantaneously.

__We were? WHEN!!?_ _

Arthur took a deep breath and typed, __Year 9.__

__Wait... no way you were Arthur Pratface!!!_ _

Arthur snorted when he read Merlin’s reply, but he felt strangely elated. Merlin didn’t write anything along the lines of “do not contact me ever again”. He sent back:

__Pratface? :/_ _

And then:

__I fear I probably was._ _

__Talk about ugly duckling...__ , Merlin wrote, making Arthur blink in confusion. The next text arrived shortly after.

__Uh. That was supposed to be a compliment. I’m rubbish at compliments. Sorry._ _

The next day, both Gwaine and Gwen commented on his suddenly improved mood, and that night in the pub, Val declared his mission of trying to find him a “rebound shag” concluded, as he clearly no longer needed it. Arthur didn’t know what he meant, but then he saw Merlin making his way over to their table with a pint and a glass of wine.

 

#  ****\---** **

Arthur had just finished his late Saturday dinner and contemplated whether it would be too soon to call Merlin after having woken up in his bed again this morning when his phone started ringing with an incoming call. It was not his usual ring tone; it had the sound of a priority call.

Fifteen minutes later found him and the rest of the team (minus Kara) in the usual conference room, blinds drawn over already darkened windows and the 3D projector playing one CCTV recording after another: the same sequence of events from different angles and at different locations. A seemingly endless crowd of people filmed from too close to determine its actual size, a green pitch barely seen in the top half of the recordings, cleats and socks of two different colours running up and down, chasing a ball under harsh lights. Footage of different parts of the crowd getting rowdy. A localized brawl braking out, escalating to several camera angles and spilling over the pitch.

“What you see, Ladies and Gentlemen,” Weary narrated, “started out as bog standard football hooliganism half an hour ago. The stadium of Ealdor FC invaded by the away team, the Bandits’ hardcore fan base who began causing some trouble when the home team began scoring goals. Police was called, water-cannons deployed, until this happened...”

The projector then played footage taken from a position behind a barricade of police cars. It showed that the stadium was in fact, smallish in size, not even deserving the name “stadium”, as the seating areas were positioned alongside the length or the pitch and the short sides were left open. The open spaces between the stands were fenced off by two-man-tall iron bars and, behind that, an even taller hedge of overgrown Leylandii.

A steady deluge was spewing from the water canons into the thickest part of the crowd. Then something strange happened. The water seemed to stop, as if it had hit an unseen barrier. Then it spread over it, and flowed towards both sides and up, like some sort of Hollywood special effect. It did not take two minutes until the entire pitch was covered in a sort of water-dome, which, upon inspection by the police, proved impenetrable. And judging from the increasingly panicked calls from the inside, it barred the passage from both directions.

The projection froze with the image of the newly erected water-dome in the middle of it.

“And that’s as much as we know,” Weary said. “Police requested our help. You have ten minutes to pick up and be on your way.”

“Right,” Morgause said, looking sceptical.

Valiant was less retentive. “Shall I call an Uber, then? Or book train tickets? How do we even get to North Wales from London in time?” he asked.

Weary smirked. “Well, luckily, we have made arrangements.”

 

#  ****\---** **

The hangar’s existence under the building of the Headquarters was a bit of a shock. Granted, it was not any larger than an underground car park, although where an underground car park would have had several storeys going down, the hangar only had one, which was deep enough for four or five parking levels. And of course it did not contain cars, but an aircraft.

“Nice!” Val whistled.

“Yes, but how is it going to get out of here?” Morgause asked, always practical.

“You never wondered why the building has an open tennis court in its middle?” Weary said, and then began to walk along a metallic terrace circling the inner wall. “This way.”

They soon reached an elevator; it took them down to ground level. Weary strode towards the plane without a word and they followed.

“But how is this going to get out through without a runway?” Mordred wondered aloud.

“Airlifted by a helicopter, maybe.” Val joked.

“It’s capable of vertical take-off,” a voice Arthur had not expected to hear said, prompting the group to stop and turn around almost as one. Merlin was walking towards them with long strides, dressed in coveralls which looked like that of fighter pilots’ in films, but lacked any insignia. Arthur forced himself to continue walking and methodically loosen his shoulders. At times like these, he was glad for the unwieldy mask which came with his uniform.

“I’m Merlin Roberts, I’ll be your pilot,” Merlin said when he caught up with them.

Morgause shook his offered hand, stepping neatly in front of Val who would have probably given himself away if Gilli hadn’t elbowed him in the side. She was the only one (besides Kara) who had never met Merlin in the person, but she probably knew all there was to know about him - if not from Arthur, then from the others. Probably while discussing Arthur’s moodiness over the last two weeks between them.

They resumed walking, the frown on Weary’s face making it clear that time was of the essence. The aircraft was a mid-sized jet with an unusual wing-configuration. The smart cromatophores over its hull were gradually turning it from a uniform sky-blue to midnight-blue, leaving no distinguishing markings anywhere. The door opened behind the cockpit, which was separated from the passenger side by a sliding door. There were twelve passenger seats - six each on both sides of the aisle - and a roomy cargo hold in the back, which currently stood empty. In the cargo hold, the floor of the plane could be opened up into a ramp when something large needed to be loaded into it.

“Get yourselves strapped in,” Merlin waved at them. He sat himself in the pilot’s chair and began with the pre-flight checks but didn’t close the divider. Instead he continued talking. “Not kidding about strapping in; the take-off might take some getting used to. You can find the barf bags in the usual place. Any of you prone to getting air sick?” he asked, turning half-around.

They shook their heads and made noises towards the contrary. Merlin seemed to be satisfied. Then he pointed a finger at Val in warning. “And I’m warning you now, no snakes on my plane, understood?”

Arthur could see Val stiffen and prepared himself for a rant, but what followed instead was a roar of laughter. “That’s good!” Val said between bouts of guffawing as he tried to catch his breath. “You’re all right, mate!” Merlin winked as though he hadn’t expected any different, and turned back to his instruments. Morgause rolled her eyes at Arthur, as though Arthur had any idea what just happened and why.

The door was still open, though, and the engines off. Arthur wondered what they were waiting for; he hadn’t heard Merlin talk to traffic control; in fact, he wasn’t even wearing a head-set. Considering that they essentially operated under government supervision, Arthur reckoned they probably had blanket permission to fly wherever they needed to, using emergency air routes which were kept free of commercial and private use.

“Sorry I’m late!” To Arthur’s surprise, Gwen stumbled into the plane, looking hastily put-together but prepared. She went to the first unoccupied seat, which happened to be in front of Arthur, strapping herself in, as though it was routine.

“No worries, Gwen!” Merlin yelled over the noise of the closing door and warming-up engines. From his window, Arthur could see people dressed in coveralls that looked similar to the one Merlin was wearing draw back towards the hangar’s sides, as a reddish light began to flash, reflecting off the metallic-white walls.

“All right? Grab onto your armrests and try not to puke!” Merlin yelled, more out of excitement than necessitated by the noise level, which went down as soon as the door had closed, and then they were off the ground - literally.

The take-off was not only vertical but also very fast. For the first seconds, Arthur could barely move, pressed into his chair by several G’s of acceleration. He wondered whether this was what fighter pilots felt. Probably only a fraction of it, but it still felt Earth-shattering. Gradually, the acceleration receded as they reached optimal travelling speed, and they were on their way.

Arthur leaned forward to Gwen. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“Medical assistance,” she told him.

“I think they have called the emergency services by now,” Arthur said.

“Not for them.” Gwen gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m here so I can respond quickly in case something like the Afanc thing happens to one of you.”

“Right.” That made sense. Whatever the regular paramedics had given Kara had only made her worse, because it had clashed with her regular medications. Afterwards, she had to remain in the hospital because the facility did not have the kind of intensive care unit she needed, but Doctor Evans had been called in to consult, and he was the one who had administered her medication.

The voyage seemed interminable, even though it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. What made it seem never-ending was Merlin’s chatting. This was not the Merlin Arthur had got to know over the past two weeks. This was an altogether more nervous and starstruck Merlin, who joked with Valiant, tried (and failed) flattering Morgause, attempted to strike up a conversation with Gilli and ignored Mordred and Isolde. And he shamelessly flirted with Arthur - or rather, he flirted with The Prince. Badly. Arthur felt nausea well up in his stomach.

When he couldn’t take it any longer, he told him to cut it out, and perhaps he was a little short with him, but he could excuse it with Merlin being distracting and distracted - probably not a good idea while piloting a tricked out airplane.

Finally, they were landing on the grass next to Ealdor Stadium. Arthur had seen the water dome from the sky - its base was a perfect circle and it was half as tall as it was wide; like a giant snow globe. Except that the goings-on inside it were the furthest from a nice, calm festive scene. There was a fight going on in the middle of it, that much was clear. It looked like a primitive battlefield. People were wielding bludgeons, chair legs maybe, or whatever they were able to pick up - some of the instigator group must have brought things they could use as a weapon - or just using their fists and legs and teeth. Those who were not involved in the fighting were pushed to the sides. Blurred faces pressed close to the thick wall of water, fists beating against it, their owners disappearing, ground under the heels of the crowd behind them. They were trying to get out. But it looked as though more and more of the fringe were joining into the fight.

It was a bloodbath.

“Can you do anything?” one of the local police constables asked.

Morgause did not answer him. Instead she turned to Mordred.

“Can you talk to them?” she asked.

“I can try,” Mordred said. “What do you want me to say?”

“Something to stop them fighting,” Morgause ground out, impatient. She looked calm and collected; in control. But Arthur knew she wasn’t good at improvising, and there was no script to being a real-life team leader. Arthur saw Mordred nod and turn towards the bubble. His ability wasn’t showy; the people around them began to fidget, as seemingly nothing was happening.

Arthur sidled up to Val and quietly asked, “Can you do something with the water?” He didn’t want Morgause to hear him - or any of the outsiders. He neither wanted to upstage her nor wrest away her leadership, and she wasn’t one to accept help without perceiving it as losing face. If Val had any success, he would take full credit for it, Arthur had no doubts about that, but she would just see that as his normal behaviour.

In the meantime, Arthur stepped close to the unlikely barrier to see if they could get through it. For some reason, he did not expect it to be wet, but of course it was. His gloves got soaked right away, but about half an inch from the surface, something stopped his hand from going any farther. It felt like a solid wall, though its surface seemed to be slick and moving under his palm, as though he had tried to push through the wall of a moving train car - one that was slicked up with lube. Arthur shook his head, fleetingly mortified, and pushed the association out of his mind. Meanwhile, no changes to the dome’s surface seemed to be occurring - nor inside it. He looked back at Valiant, who just shrugged. Gilli must have tried something too, because when he noticed Arthur looking in his direction, he spread his hands. Isolde didn’t even try; if her bolts went through the barrier, she would be shooting into the crowd. No one wanted any unnecessary casualties.

“I can’t seem to reach them,” Mordred said. “Either it’s the barrier, or they are just too out of their minds to take notice.” That was strange. Arthur had experienced Mordred’s power first hand. It had been the oddest thing, to suddenly hear a voice in his head. It was nothing like hearing someone through a loudspeaker or a phone, or even like a surround sound system. The voice was projected directly into the auditory cortex, bypassing the ears and even the midbrain, where subconscious reflexes to auditory signals are generated. For someone to have failed to notice that, they must have been truly out of their minds.

“Can you get anything inside, boss?” Val asked.

“I’ll have to try,” was Morgause’s answer. She closed her eyes.

And then they waited.

“Bloody hell, what is that thing?” Arthur heard one of the Police Constables shouting.

Morgause turned around and fixed him with her eyes. The PC shrank back. “They are called the Dorocha.”

“Dorocha?” the PC questioned. Arthur didn’t blame him for the disbelief in his tone. “Sounds like something from Doctor Who. How do you even come up with something like that?”

“They told me,” Morgause said, not bothering to raise her voice, but there was no need, as it was perfectly audible in the sudden silence. “I suggest you take a step back.”

Arthur didn’t have to be told twice. And then he saw it: translucent shapes descending from the sky. They were roughly the size of a football and faintly luminous, shrouded in a flickering corona which looked like comets’ tails in mediaeval depictions. When one got close enough, Arthur saw a face in it - or rather the likeness of a naked human skull; its empty eye sockets seemed to be looking right at him. It reminded him of a CGI ghost.

The first ones arriving gathered around Morgause and then stopped, waiting for her command. Arthur felt chill radiate from their direction. He shuddered; others around him did the same; Isolde crossed her arms in front of her chest and tried to rub some warmth into her limbs. Morgause didn’t seem to be affected.

One of the constables wasn’t quick enough. He only had enough time to yell, “Bollocks, it went through me!” and then, as Arthur watched, he collapsed in a dead faint. The paramedics immediately stepped forward to check him out. “Unconscious but breathing,” one of them pronounced, looking at Morgause for any indication that the constable was in danger.

“That’s what’s supposed to happen when they get in contact with a body. He will be all right,” she said in an indifferent tone. The paramedics didn’t take it as lightly. The other one did some other routine checks, pulling back the PC’s eyelids and measuring his pulse, but a minute or so later, and the man was waking already up. He was complaining about being cold, but otherwise, he seemed none the worse for it.

Arthur saw Morgause let go of some of her tension; so she was not as unaffected as she had appeared, after all. And then she lifted her right arm and pointed at the water dome, and the Dorocha lurched forward. They had no problem going through the dome and the people who were squished to the barrier from the inside. Arthur saw heads tilt back the way the constable’s had done before he had collapsed, and it was probably only the push of the crowd behind the first row which prevented them from falling. First there were only a few who slumped against the barrier, unconscious, but then more and more of the things Morgause had summoned went through, and where they drifted, the crowd cleared behind them.

“They are going to be trampled,” Arthur said as he saw that the people pushing from behind began to move forward towards the barrier, stepping on the fallen bodies. Morgause turned around and gave him a sharp glance, but she redirected the newly arrived creatures to go through the barrier from overhead and then approach the nodes where the fighting was the most savage.

“What’s that?” Val said, pointing at the spot where the Dorocha went in. Arthur saw what he meant. Apparently, the cold they carried was not merely a psychological effect, because the water froze into ice crystals which began to flake as more and more of them passed through.

Gilli reached forward and sent a shock of power at the ice, and it shattered. Unfortunately, as it did, water immediately began to fill the hole and closed the bubble once again. Still...

“Why don’t you direct them to one spot?” Arthur suggested. “We break the ice and keep the water from filling in the hole.”

“And how do we do that?” Morgause asked. “ _ _Soldier__ barely managed to create a small opening.”

Arthur saw Gilli stiffen. He did not blame him; Morgause was speaking the facts but her toneless voice still sounded like an accusation.

“Then __Spitfire__ should try,” Arthur said, using Isolde’s code name. “ _ _Soldier__ and __Valiant__ could keep the hole from closing up again.”

Morgause gave him a long look, then turned back toward the barrier. “It’s worth a try,” she decided. “Get ready.”

More of the Dorocha came - new ones appeared outside the barrier but also the ones who were already inside were now reversing their path and closing in on their group to pass through the barrier from the other side. Morgause directed them into describing complicated loops in and out through the water wall. It was like a swarm of bees in which each individual was dancing its own dance. The dome’s surface crystallized into ice in patches; the patches stretched towards each other until they grew into one bigger chunk of ice. Isolde had already loaded a bolt into her crossbow - one that was designed to fracture on impact and spread out. She was concentrating on giving it as much of an oomph as she could, making it glow like molten metal in a furnace, although the bolt was made of bamboo. She aimed at the ice and let it fly. The bolt impacted with a fiery splash, seeming to make a mockery of conventional physics by melting all over the surface instead of going through as a normal bolt would do. Where it spread, the ice thawed and created a hole, which was big enough for Gilli to start chipping away at its sides and keep shoving the water back. Val helped out; once the water was no longer liquid, it was subject to his power, so he could animate the ice to curl around the opening and block the water’s way into closing it. They seemed to have come to a tacit agreement on who worked on what side of the hole; once they started working together, they made an effective team and managed to keep the opening from closing back up.

There was only one problem. As soon as there was an opening and they were ready to go in, the crowd on the other side stormed it, seeing a way to escape. But there were too many of them and all of them wanted to be the first to get through. They were pushing and shoving, and trampling each other.

“Do something!” one of the paramedics yelled, and Morgause hesitated for a second, and then all her summoned creatures suddenly began advancing as one, sliding through the barrier and slipping through flesh and bones. Where they went, bodies fell where they stood, like trees in a forest after a nuclear blast.

“Way is free,” Morgause said and started forward, caring little about the dismayed sounds coming from the observers behind their backs.

Meanwhile, Morgause’s army went back to the thick of the fighting.

They went in one by one. Arthur followed Isolde who had followed Mordred; Val and Gilli hurried inside, closing their ranks.

It was loud in here. It was like submerging into a pandemonium of battle cries, yells and shrieks, the thumps of heavy objects and fists meeting flesh with forbidding force.

As soon as they stopped maintaining the gate, it closed up again behind their backs. Morgause waded through the castle moat of unconscious people, and they followed her, into the melee. The going was slow; they had to find holes between the bodies to step into. Arthur expected them to wake up just as quickly as the unfortunate constable had, but they had been walking through them for the better part of five minutes and no members of the crowd were even stirring yet.

There was an indescribable atmosphere inside the dome. The outside world looked blurred like something seen through a car window during a rainstorm but also distorted like the image of a fisheye lens. It was like walking through someone’s most vivid nightmare. Arthur didn’t know whether this association produced the underlying note of dread and anxiety he felt or was it the other way round? The fighting was still some ways from them - it had looked a lot closer, watching it from the outside. It seemed the lensing effect of the dome’s curved wall went in both directions. Then again, Morgause’s little helpers were zipping around the area, felling people where they could.

It seemed their effect was diminishing; Arthur saw a group of three men pummelling each other - there was no rhyme or reason to who was on one team and who on the other: everyone was against everyone else - when one of the ghostly things went through the entire clump of bodies, and their movements didn’t even slow. Maybe they had some sort of limited charge in them, Arthur thought.

“Do you smell this?” Isolde asked, her voice unaccountably shaky.

“No,” Arthur answered, and then, “maybe.”

It wasn’t a smell, exactly. It was a staleness of a closed space, metallic with a taste of sweat and lightning, constricting, like sitting in a crowded airplane for eight hours, and there was a kind of apprehension hanging in the air, and a kind of restlessness. Arthur caught himself wishing he could do something, anxious to just step up to the fighting groups and hit the first man who opposed him. He had to shake that thought loose; he could feel it lodge itself into his brain, and somehow knew that if he let it, he’d erupt into mindless aggression like all the other people around them. They had to find the source of the barrier - and apparently also the source of whatever was causing the general mayhem, hopefully before it began to affect them as well.

“This is bad,” Gilli murmured under his nose, but loud enough to be heard through their radio connection. The radio was generally set to silent when they were close to each other, but turned on when they got separated or when the ambient noise made communication impossible without yelling.

“You only start realising that now?” Valiant bit out. Arthur could hear the tension behind his apparent irritation.

“Look there, what is that?” Mordred asked, stopping where he stood. Morgause turned back and looked at where he was pointing, Arthur and the others following in her wake.

“Can’t see anything,” she said.

“Guys? What is happening?” Arthur heard Merlin’s tinny voice through the radio. “Headquarters are asking for an update. I can’t tell them anything. My sensors aren’t penetrating the dome, and your personal cams are really blurry.” He had obviously been listening in. No one answered him; they did not know.

“Oh, no!” Mordred sounded on the verge of panic. Arthur’s subconscious reacted to it by putting him instantly on alert. He looked around, still unable to spot whatever Mordred was seeing. And then he heard Mordred yell, “Run” in a terrified voice - it was so loud he even heard it in synch with his radio, which automatically lowered the volume, but with considerable latency. Weird. The next thing Arthur knew, Mordred was running away, into the thickest crowd, as though he were chased by something unspeakable. Arthur saw one of the Dorocha idly drift after him, but that couldn’t have been what had scared Mordred. Or could it?

“Damn, where are these things coming from?” he heard Val’s frustrated voice so close that it took him time until he realized that Val had drifted away from the team as well. In his wake, the ground was crawling with snakes of braided grass. They curled around people’s ankles, causing them to stumble, twisted around those already on the ground and bound their legs, tied their arms to their torsos, leaving them screaming in fright, wriggling on the grass. At least those who were already down couldn’t cause more damage.

Arthur felt something slam against his back. He half-turned around and saw Gil, arms outstretched, using his power to shove everyone who was within the limits of his telekinesis away. He was none too gentle about it, but Arthur could hear the panic in his staccato breathing, coming through the helmet mic loud and clear. And then he also took off on a run, in the same direction Val had gone.

“Morgause?” Arthur asked, looking for their leader. He could see neither her nor Isolde around - it had only taken the few seconds he had been distracted for them to disappear in the throng of people - but he could hear their voices through the radio. He saw Isolde’s glowing bolts shoot towards the sky, disintegrating there - he realized she was probably shooting at the Dorocha, yelling swearwords at them. The creatures did not seem to be affected; they just drifted about idly, dipping down once in a while, looking for their next target. Morgause’s vocalisations suggested that she was fighting her way through the enraged mob, probably using her own body and flashy martial arts moves.

Arthur could feel the first notes of panic seize his muscles, muddy his thoughts. The more he tried to fight it, the more it got him in its grip. His own rapid breathing echoed inside his helmet, and blood saturated in neurochemicals rushed in his veins, making him feel light-headed. Fear was zinging through his bones. The thing was, he had no idea what he should be afraid of, even when he knew with absolute certainty that something was out there. Something inside this bubble they were locked into, past the crowd of bloodthirsty people - or maybe it was among them. Maybe it was one of them.

The crowd parted in front of him to allow through his greatest fear: atop a demonic horse sat a man, his eyes roving with madness and malevolence. He was accoutred in a medieval warlord’s armour and held a monstrous crossbow, decorated with evil spikes. He aimed its thick bolt directly at Arthur’s heart, and he could see the tip dripping with poison. And Arthur suddenly knew that no amount of invulnerability would protect him from that bolt. It was going impale him, its length contaminated by MAGIC, and kill him.

But something compelled Arthur to turn around - he was not going to run; it was the feeling that behind his back something equally dangerous lurked. So he turned slowly, one eye kept on the bolt, and the finger about to loosen it, the other seeking this new danger.

It was another man - on foot this time - wearing a cowled cape which hid his figure, and a hideous demon mask to cover his face. He lifted his arms and held them out towards the distant sky, and began to recite an incantation in a deep, unearthly voice. Arthur couldn’t understand a word of it until he recognised his own name. And realized that this man wielded MAGIC and he was going to take Arthur’s life force to spread its evil, and Arthur couldn’t do anything about it.

The next second, all hell broke loose. At the man’s feet, the wind picked up in a slow, circular dance, billowing the individual blades of grass, and then tearing them out one by one, lifting them high and ever higher, spinning them around until Arthur could no longer see them within the body of the newly risen tornado, which threatened to sweep away everything in its way, howling like all the demons from hell.

But instead of that, the whirlwind rose up against the barrier and pushed at it. The top of its funnel spread to encompass the barrier’s entire circumference. The air became thin and Arthur felt weakened. He gasped for breath. Just when he thought he was going to faint from lack of oxygen, the barrier collapsed with a mighty pop, bathing everyone underneath in ice-cold water.

Silence fell and the air grew still.

Arthur straightened up, pulled down his arms from where he had subconsciously raised them to protect his head. His eyes were still closed. He didn’t know whether he wanted to open them. But he had no other choice, so he did.

The sight which greeted him was drastically different from what he had expected. It was just a footie pitch, packed with ordinary people. Some of them were looking around, bewildered, sporting bruises, a split eyebrows and bleeding noses. Others sat on the ground, just blinking awake, pulling at mud-flecked, grass-stained clothes. In place of the “warlord” was a bloke lying on his back, in a full adidas track suit. He was forty-ish, with an aquiline nose, receding hairline and grey in his close-cropped beard, but Arthur recognised his eyes. They did not seem evil or mad with rage now, only confused. His narrow face had been painted with the colours of one of the teams, now smudged, and he was holding a water gun in his hand.

Arthur turned around to look for the “warlock”, and saw Merlin standing in its place. He was wearing an oxygen mask that looked like the kind of masks built into airplanes, but portable. He was silently handing another one to Arthur, but now that the bubble had burst and whatever it had contained had been dispersed by the whirlwind - Arthur had no idea whether the phenomenon had been real or just a hallucination - he no longer needed it.

“Merlin? How did you get in here?”

“Um.” Merlin said. “There was all sorts of gibberish coming through the radio. Sounded like you needed help.” He shrugged, scratching under his ear self-consciously and getting his finger tangled in the mask’s rubber band.

Arthur didn’t hear the rest because one of Morgause’s minions swooped down in front of him and went through him. All he could feel was an icy cold, and then he allowed his consciousness to be swept away into soothing darkness.

He came to, probably only a minute or two later, with his head lying on Merlin’s lap. Merlin was patting his shoulder awkwardly, like one would do with a stranger in a similar situation. Arthur remembered that in the mask and uniform he wore he was a stranger to Merlin, and that all was as it was supposed to be. Maybe it was stupid to be jealous of oneself. Arthur couldn’t find the will in himself to care.

“Come on, we should help out,” Merlin said, jumping up as soon as Arthur’s weight lifted off his legs, and then offered his hand to help him stand. Arthur accepted. His gloved fingers gripped Merlin’s long digits, and he wished he could hold on to them just a little longer, but this was not the time. Instead he followed Merlin to the rest of the team.


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin sat next to Lance in the waiting room. He tried to be unobtrusive about eavesdropping on Doctor Evans and his team of geneticists and other types of consultants gathered around the other end, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. Unfortunately, he barely heard a word here and there.

He checked the phone and read the latest article on the Dragons blog to kill time while waiting.

Doctor Evans was one of the reasons Merlin had accepted the job offer. Apparently, he and his mother knew each other online, had had meaningful conversations in the past - and Merlin hadn’t wanted to know anything further - and she trusted him enough to take him by his word that Merlin was not being recruited to a crime organisation, or some secret government experiment of which the only way out was in a body bag. Well, as it had turned out, it was a government organisation and as secret as it could be, but all they had required of him was his signature on some non-disclosure agreements and a blood test.

Merlin recognised few others from the group. One of them was named Aredian White, the man who had travelled all the way to Florida to deliver Merlin the job offer. The third man was Agravaine Weary; Merlin didn’t have much to do with him professionally, but he knew he was responsible for the team. The woman with the long, brown hair was unknown to him, but she was also wearing a lab coat, like all the others apart from White and Weary, so she must be a senior member on Doctor Evans’s team.

They were in deep discussion about something or other, but whatever it was, Merlin suspected it concerned the fate of the other two people occupying the waiting room.

The bearded footie fan - named Herbert Kanen, but he had almost bitten off the paramedic’s head when she had called him Herbert - was sitting across them, looking irritated. He looked a bit worse for the wear, the skin over his right cheekbone puffy and turning blue, but mostly he just acted inconvenienced. Never mind that he had started a brawl which had nearly turned into a bloodbath.

Lance just looked tired. Merlin had got the surprise of his life when he had found Lancelot - Freya’s ex whom he had barely got to know before they had split - hiding behind an upturned hot dog stand, gibbering about a griffin or something similar that was about to kill him. Finally, they had managed to calm him down enough to show him that there was no griffin - just an old milk goat, moonlighting as the home team’s mascot. After Lance had calmed down, suddenly everyone else around them had been less anxious as well, which had apparently prompted Gwen to ask Lance very nicely to accompany them back to the headquarters. At that moment, Lance had looked as though he would have followed her anywhere.

They had already been through the requisite blood test and other examinations Merlin had not been privy to. He just felt obligated as a friend-of-a-friend to stay there with Lance, so he had.

_****Here Be Dragons** ** _

_The Celebrity News_

_****Sophia Black called a liar by thousands of tweets (#sophiablack-lyingbitch)**** ** **  
****by Kilgar, A._

_Have you seen yesterday’s diappointing interview with Britain’s premier superhero team on Elyan Brown? After her own guest appearance on the show the same evening, Sophia Black tweeted,_

_@herebedragons, I saw ~~The Prince~~  without his mask. I took a photo! I’m keeping it to myself!_   
_#arentyoualljealous_

_Do we believe her? NOT UNTIL YOU POST THAT PICTURE, Sophia!_

_** **Comments:** ** _

_from_ ****Tregorova** **

_Who cares what he looks like in real life? There must be a reason he’s wearing that mask! I bet he’s butt ugly! Maybe MAGIC made his face look like Frankeinstein’s._

Merlin read the last comment and felt his blood pressure rising. Who was this person who thought they could just smear excrement all over The Prince? He impulsively thumbed the Reply button and wrote:

_from_ ****Emrys** **

_Go eat shite you troll!!!_

 

He might not have been at his most eloquent but after that, he felt better.

The outer door to the waiting room opened and a man came in. He was dressed in a rumpled suit - not a mark of carelessness but of a long and busy day. He had blond, fly-away hair, piercing blue eyes and a face lined with perpetual tiredness. Lance lifted his head from where he had been resting it in his palms and looked at the newcomer. His posture straightened immediately. He stood and Merlin followed his example. Kanen crossed his arms and slouched in his chair, looking bored.

“Chief Inspector,” Lance greeted the man stiffly, who came to stand in front of them.

“Sergeant.” The man nodded, then looked at Merlin, but apparently judged him of lesser importance than Lance, because he looked back at him. “I do hope I wasn’t called here for you, Sergeant Griffith.” He looked most unimpressed by this possibility.

Lance’s eyes widened but he suddenly found himself speechless.

“He’s not the one you’ll want.” Aredian White’s mellifluous drone suddenly filled the room as the man in question stepped away from the group of scientists and walked to the Chief Inspector. “It’s this one, here: Herbert Kanen.” Kanen stiffened at that. White turned back briefly to Lance. “Young man, you can go home now. I expect we are going to see each other very soon,” he finished, offering his hand, which Lance took dazedly. Then with a couple of pats at Lance’s back, White turned back to the Chief Inspector and Kanen, still sulking on the waiting room seat.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Merlin said, taking Lance by the arm. Lancelot let himself be guided out and put into a taxi.

Merlin sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, tiredly. He should be making an early night of it, he thought, but his tiredness wasn’t physical; it was mental. So he took out his phone and texted Arthur.

_Where are you?_

_Sunrise_ , Arthur texted back, and Merlin took up on foot in the pub’s direction.

Once he got there, he made a beeline right to the usual table and found Arthur sitting there in the company of Isolde, Elena, some young, curly-haired bloke who looked faintly familiar, and a glass of white wine. Looking around, he spotted Val by the counter, chatting up Katerina who gave him alternately mildly interested and disgusted glances. Merlin collapsed on a chair.

“You wouldn’t believe the day I had,” he began, earning himself mildly disbelieving looks from Isolde and the curly bloke. Arthur drank his wine and looked unimpressed. Merlin then remembered that his day had started out with Arthur’s mouth on his cock, and felt mildly chastised for the exaggeration, but after the last couple of hours’ events it seemed as if a whole day had passed.

“I need to let go tonight. I’m going to a club. Are you coming with me?” he asked, mostly Arthur, but he directed the invitation at everyone, in case others wanted to go as well.

Arthur finished his wine and lifted a shoulder, looking straight at Merlin. Merlin started getting the vague feeling that he was missing something, but he didn’t have the brain power to figure out what it was, or even care. Then Arthur said, “Sure, why not,” and stood.

They ended up in Soho, in a club Merlin had read about online but had never visited before. It was fairly new, glamorous, and the entrance fee was often called orbital, which was right in Merlin’s ballpark. When they got out of the taxi and saw where they were, Arthur began acting hesitant.

“What’s the matter?” Merlin asked.

“I don’t think I’m dressed the right way,” Arthur said, looking concerned.

Merlin looked at what he was wearing: it was a nondescript black t-shirt and old, comfortable jeans. Although the worn material moulded nicely to Arthur’s backside and thighs, Merlin wouldn’t have called it fashionable. He wore trainers, which looked new, if not expensive. Merlin knew he himself would blend in with what he was wearing. The jeans and the button-down shirt (now only buttoned up halfway, thanks to Arthur’s wandering fingers in the taxi) were custom-made, because with his measurements, he rarely found anything fitting in normal clothes stores - or at least nothing fitting which wasn’t intended for teenagers to wear - and his shoes were expensive but no matter how much Will had laughed at him for even owning that brand (and apparently embodying some obsolete gay stereotype), they were just comfortable, and he could afford them, so what? In contrast, Arthur looked like someone out to a quiet evening in the pub with friends, which he had been, until Merlin had kidnapped him.

“You’re not here to pick up some bloke,” Merlin tried to talk logic, but he really just wanted convince Arthur. “You don’t need to be dressed to impress. I’m already a safe bet, and I don’t care what you’re wearing.” He found Arthur’s hand and wound their fingers together, beginning to tug him towards the entrance. Arthur followed him with a huff. And then Merlin couldn’t stop himself from turning back, winking and adding in a volume audible to the bouncers standing by the door, “But if it really bothers you, you can just take off your shirt; I’ll guarantee no one will give any notice to the rest... unless you take those off too.”

Arthur might have blushed - it was hard to tell in the flashy neon lights - but Merlin saw clear agreement on the doormen’s faces. One of them even made a show of taking off his sunglasses and roving his eyes over Arthur’s frame appreciatively.

“Listen to your boy, mate, he couldn’t be more right,” he told Arthur and might have slapped him on the butt as they strode past them, because Merlin felt Arthur jump a little, tightening his hand on Merlin’s and lengthening his steps to catch up.

The club was dark and filled to the brim with people - mostly men. Most of the patrons were on the dance floor, already sufficiently tanked up. Merlin and Arthur had a free path to the bar where Merlin ordered the cocktail with the most ridiculous name for himself. Arthur ordered a drink which seemed more sophisticated at a first glance but apparently tasted like sugared lighter fluid and painted his lips vivid pink for a while (Merlin didn’t tell him; he kind of liked the effect). Merlin insisted on buying, since he had been the one to invite Arthur. Arthur didn’t object too much but he also stopped ordering anything alcoholic.

“I’m no longer twenty,” he said. “I have to pace myself if I’m to be of any use for the rest of the night.”

“We’ll see,” Merlin growled into his ear and pulled him onto the dance floor.

“Hey, Arthur! Fancy seeing you here!” At the edge of the crowd, they were stopped by a woman, who looked faintly familiar.

Arthur seemed to shrink a little. He probably said something back but Merlin couldn’t really hear it from the music. The woman’s gaze drifted down to where Merlin was holding Arthur’s hand and then back to his eyes.

“In that case, I’ll let you enjoy your evening, ta-ta!”

Only after she had gone, did Merlin manage to match the face with a name.

“Was that Sophia Black?” he asked, and he had to yell into Arthur’s ear, which made him wince and look around nervously. “I didn’t know you knew her!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur yelled back. “Let’s just dance!” So Merlin did.

Arthur started out as a cautious dancer. But as time went (and maybe as the alcohol started affecting him, although Merlin wouldn’t bet on the latter) he gradually lost his inhibitions. Merlin never claimed to be a good dancer, let alone graceful, but he and Arthur made good partners, at least when all they had to do was grind against each other. The dance floor was packed enough to prohibit any fancy moves. After half an hour, it got warm and sweaty enough that Merlin even managed to talk Arthur into taking off his t-shirt. Merlin let himself enjoy the feeling of Arthur’s naked chest rubbing up against him, and the music throbbing in his ears. If something else of his was also throbbing, he certainly wasn’t the only one.

They didn’t only dance with each other - they took turns with the men who stepped up to either of them, but they always found each other again. After an hour or so, Arthur dragged Merlin back to the bar and ordered two beers, saying he was thirsty. Some of the other men who had danced with them seemed to come to the same realisation because they followed their lead, and soon, they found themselves standing in a circle, making introductions. They were all ridiculously good looking and had a physique to almost rival Arthur’s; Merlin couldn’t help but admire all the glistening muscles on display.

“Hey, man,” Merlin heard a loud, deep voice, and another man joined their circle, landing a large hand on Arthur’s shoulder. If the others had been good looking, their new companion looked as though he had come straight from a body building competition - after he had won it.

Arthur turned his back and his face lit up with recognition. “Perce!” he yelled. Merlin felt something twist in his stomach but he ignored it, turning to... John? maybe, standing on his other side, trying to work out what he had just asked. As it turned out he had just complimented Merlin for netting someone as hot as Arthur.

“We aren’t dating,” Merlin felt obliged to acknowledge. Technically, Arthur was free to go home with any of these men if he so wished. Arthur must have heard it because Merlin felt him shift against his shoulder, and then he felt a pat, Arthur trying to get his attention.

“Merlin, this is Percival,” Arthur introduced the body-builder looking bloke. He was also shirtless. Merlin’s eyes caught a bead of sweat sliding down his neck and continued tracking its path downward between his pecs and over his nicely toned abs.

Arthur pulled Merlin in front of him so he could continue his conversation with Percy while he switched places with him and started talking with the other guys. Merlin couldn’t brush off the feeling that Arthur was trying to set him up with Percy, but maybe it was just his imagination. And maybe Percy had the same idea because after that, he started blatantly flirting with Merlin. Merlin gave as good as he got, because it didn’t mean anything; they were just having a good time.

They had another round of beers and went back to the dance floor afterwards - the volume of the music wasn’t conducive to holding any deep, meaningful conversations, nor was that the expected outcome. Merlin found himself grinding against Percy, but in the next moment, he was replaced by Joe (maybe) and then another two of their new acquaintances in short succession. After four or five songs, he ended up opposite Arthur again, who rubbed his body against Merlin rather more enthusiastically than before. He enjoyed it until the song lasted, but when it ended, rather than let Arthur shift to the next partner, he grabbed his wrist and nudged him towards the toilets. Arthur’s brow furrowed but he followed Merlin without reluctance.

Once there, Merlin found he needed to relieve himself, and Arthur shrugged and did the same. They didn’t talk while they washed their hands and used the hand drier. Merlin was enjoying a bit of silence, the loud music still ringing in his ears. Finally, when he could no longer pretend that he had anything else to occupy his attention, Arthur turned towards Merlin.

“So?” he asked, looking at him expectantly, and Merlin suddenly didn’t know how to ask what he had wanted to ask.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he said, and couldn’t help wincing at how lame it had sounded. “Sorry. I just meant, you don’t have to come home with me, if you don’t want to.” He couldn’t believe how hard it had been to say it.

Arthur shrugged and didn’t answer what Merlin wanted to know. Instead he asked his own question.

“Are you taking Percy home?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes, trying to divine what Arthur was expecting him to say. Finally, he decided to go with the truth.

“I wasn’t planning to. I came with you, after all.”

“We aren’t dating,” Arthur said, as though that were the ultimate answer, but to Merlin it sounded as if he were also asking a question at the same time. Merlin remained silent. He was maybe a bit drunk and confused, and didn’t know what to say. All he knew was that he suddenly didn’t want to imagine Arthur going home with John or Jack or David or what’shisface. He swallowed and swept a hand over his face, fingers sliding in sweat. He took a deep breath and pushed it out, feeling frustrated.

“Will you come home with me if I ask you to?”

Arthur smirked and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Merlin watched his pecs flex. His nipples, pebbled in the cool air-conditioned air of the loo - brushed against his biceps, and Merlin wanted nothing more than a taste of them. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and then realised that Arthur had answered and he didn’t hear a word of it.

“What did you say? Sorry.”

This elicited a grin out of Arthur. “I said I won’t know until you actually ask, but I see you’re not in the right state of mind for word games. So what do you say we just go?”

Merlin found himself nodding fervently. “Just one second, want to do something first,” he heard himself say. And then he pressed Arthur against the (deceptively clean-looking) counter and sucked a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip. He heard and felt Arthur groan. When his belly pushed against Arthur’s front, he felt Arthur’s cock jerk against him.

“Want me to suck you off first?” he asked. Jeez, he must be drunk!

“Here?” Arthur looked around, sounding disbelieving. “What if someone comes in?”

“Then they will surely know that they don’t have a chance because you will be going home with me tonight,” Merlin answered, grinning, and slid to his knees, pulling down Arthur’s zipper as he went.

Arthur groaned, but didn’t object. He gripped the counter with both hands and allowed Merlin to do what he wanted.

And then Merlin’s mouth was on Arthur’s stomach as he worked down his jeans and underwear, tongue dipping briefly into Arthur’s navel before he ducked down to suck Arthur’s cock into his mouth, lips sliding wetly over the soft skin. Whether or not they got a visitor, Merlin had noticed nothing of it, and he was quite certain Arthur wouldn't have done either.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur’s back smacked hard into the training mat. He hissed with pain; being more resistant to physical injuries didn’t mean his nerves didn’t send pain messages. When he reopened his eyes, he saw Val’s hand in front of his nose, and a little further up, Val’s face looking down at him speculatively.

“All right, mate?” he asked.

Arthur nodded and took the offered hand. Val pulled him up from the mat where he had just dropped him. As the two beginners in the group, they frequently got paired up with each other. So frequently in fact, that they had long stopped keeping score. Or Arthur had. Mostly because Val tried to play dirty and distract him with talk before he had a go at him. Arthur pretended to be annoyed; he wasn’t going to tell him that sometimes their practice sessions felt therapeutic.

“Ready for another round?” he asked. He reminded himself of Gwaine’s instructions: use his legs more, his brain less. This was supposed to become a skill – something that no longer required thinking about the move he was going to execute. That way, he’d have time to evaluate what his opponent was going to do and react to it appropriately, and not one half-second too late, as was his wont. (Val usually got the opposite directions: to use his head more, and not just as a battering ram!)

They assumed the correct opening stance in front of each other. Arthur waited for Val to start, using the time to regain his breath some.

“So, let me get this straight,” Val opened his mouth instead of the fight. Although maybe for him it was the same – for the aforementioned reasons. “He’s been working with the team for how long – and he still doesn’t know who we are?”

Arthur shrugged. There was no need to supply an answer as Val knew as well as he did. They met every two or three days in the pub, and either Merlin was a hell of a professional, never slipping when it came to keeping the team’s public identities separate from their private lives, or else he didn’t even suspect. There was one reason why Arthur very strongly suspected that it was the former: the flirting had never stopped. Merlin made overtures towards him - or rather, his professional identity - every now and then. Even though he grew more subtle every time Arthur blocked that way of conversation, Arthur felt he had exhausted his supply of polite brush-offs. And he absolutely hated his team mates’ pitying glances.

Guaranteed, Merlin had not been present on all of their assignments. Most of the time they were sent out to a location within or near Greater London, and there were easier, not to mention subtler, ways to get there than an ultra-military plane.

There had been that one time when they flew to Belfast’s business district. There had been news about a pharmacological lab in the Ashkanar Tower which had purportedly been in possession of an intact sample of the MAGIC virus and planned to reverse engineer it in their lab. The team was sent to seize everyone who worked there, pack up their research and the samples and deliver them to an undisclosed location where the government kept highly contagious agents.

Merlin had been grumbling all the way there, having been woken up in the middle of the night, and then he insisted - against protocol - to follow them up to the lab because sitting in the plane and listening to their comms, as he had said, was alternately boring and nerve-racking. Fortunate that he had because, as it turned out, he had been the only one capable of disabling the emergency contamination protocol one of the scientists had activated, which would have hermetically locked the doors and sucked all the air out of the lab. When asked how he had done it, he had just shrugged and said they ought to thank his BSc in electrical engineering.

The other time the team had to find a genetically engineered unicorn which had escaped the transport lorry on its way to the London Zoo. Merlin once again hadn’t been supposed to be there, but when Arthur had found the animal, it was being petted by Merlin. At the disturbance, the unicorn had stormed Arthur and tried to impale him on its horn, but upon meeting Arthur’s invulnerable skin, the horn broke up. Merlin had been upset because superheroes weren’t supposed to kill wildlife (which was inaccurate on several levels, but Arthur had let it go). At any rate, the animal had lived, albeit now hornless.

“How long have you been dating?” Val asked, just before he landed a left hook. Arthur moved in the last second, so it only glanced him.

“Merlin and I aren’t dating,” he answered reflexively.

“You are,” Isolde yelled from the other end of the room as she tried her best to get close enough to Morgause to get in a hit. Morgause mostly just stood there stoically, stepping out of Isolde’s way and getting in token pats, telling her what she should have done differently. “He just doesn’t know yet.”

“Lots of things that boy doesn’t know.” Val snorted.

Gwaine, who had partnered himself with Gilli but was currently waiting for him to come back from a loo break, turned towards them to watch their form, correcting where he felt he had to, or telling them to repeat a move until they got it right. He complimented Val on his almost-hits, then Arthur on his footwork which had made it possible to evade them.

“All right,” Isolde said. “Enough about Arthur’s love life; it’s turning into a soap. Why don’t we talk about yours?” By which she meant Val.

“What about mine?” Val asked, taken by surprise.

Arthur used Val’s distraction to punch him in the solar plexus. Val doubled over.

“Two words,” Isolde huffed, dancing around Morgause, but talking didn’t seem to deter her concentration. (Morgause would have reprimanded her if she had thought she was not giving it her all.) “Doctor Connor,” she finished.

They had met Doctor Connor (“call me Nimueh”) two weeks after the football riot. She had come in during a team meeting to debrief them on that particular day’s events. Not that she had been very informative - she couldn’t help but pepper her explanation with scientific lingo, making it hard to grasp. But as Arthur had understood all it had boiled down on three facts. One: the water-barrier around the pitch had been created by Herbert Kanen - incidentally the one whose gang had started the original brawl. Two: it wouldn’t have been nearly as impenetrable as it had been if not for a second person trapped inside the barrier whose unknown ability was to project his emotions via pheromones secreted from his body. These pheromones got trapped inside the bubble and whipped the crowd into a fight-or-flight frenzy - and everyone knew that adrenaline could induce a normal person to perform impossible deeds; the effects would multiply if this person happened to have special abilities. The third variable was Mordred, who apparently had some heretofore untapped ability, brought to the fore by those very same pheromones, which had caused all the nightmarish hallucinations everyone had experienced.

Oh and by the way? A warm welcome to your new team member, Pheromone-bloke!

He and Mordred had got promptly paired up, which was why they were exempt of combat training and were ensconced somewhere inside the facility where the scientists could work out how best they could combine their abilities.

“She’s a fine woman, don’t get me wrong,” Arthur tuned back to Val’s explanation. “But she’s way too sophisticated for the likes of me, if you know what I mean.”

“I think using a word with that many syllables gives the lie to that statement,” Arthur said.

“Nah.” Val grinned and attacked Arthur.

The door opened and Gilli strode back in. Arthur couldn’t help but wince at the sight (and as a consequence, suffer a hit from Val). The bruising on Gilli’s face from Val’s fists and the ugly line on his neck from when Val’s animated grass snake had almost choked him to death during the football fiasco were still very much prominent. Gwaine clapped his hands together. Their gazes turned towards him as one. Even Morgause’s. “All right, break is over, back to work with you, or I’ll be sad.”

And they did what he told them to do. No one wanted to bear witness to Gwaine looking sad. His fake-crying brought tears to everyone’s eyes - literally. It was weird as fuck.

When training was over, Gwaine stopped Arthur by the door before he could have left.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear. Were you talking about Merlin Roberts?” Gwaine seemed bemused. “Black hair, blue eyes, about my height, kinda skinny?”

“And let’s not forget those ears!” Val added as he passed them into the showers. “They are pretty unforgettable.”

“Aye, that they are,” Gwaine agreed, smiling fondly.

“You seen him around?” Arthur asked, not liking the direction of the thoughts which could have elicited that particular brand of smile.

“I haven’t, actually. He’s just a friend of mine.” Gwaine shrugged. “And when I say friend, I mean we had a one-night thing, years ago,” he added quickly. “And next time I saw him, the interest just wasn’t there, so we ended up as mates. On his side, I mean. Merlin is not one to keep sleeping with a bloke he only sees as a friend.” Gwaine winked at Arthur lavishly.

“Or I could be the exception,” Arthur countered.

Gwaine looked disappointed, but did not disagree.

 

#  ****\---** **

Isolde’s birthday was December 1. She decided to invite a couple of people over to her flat on the following Saturday. Arthur took the stairs one floor up. Isolde let him inside while accepting the present he had brought, which was embarrassingly bottle-shaped. She seemed amused, and Arthur could see why, when she deposited it among all the other, differently sized but distinctly bottle-shaped packages.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “It was pretty last-minute.” So Arthur let it go and didn’t let it bother him.

He looked around the spacious living room and saw that a few people were already there. He went and shook hands with Tristan, who was, for once, out of a suit. Elena was sitting on the sofa, with the television remote in one hand and a glass of something in the other. She pressed the buttons until she found some sort of music channel and left it there, the volume just high enough for the music to be audible. Arthur sat down next to her.

On her other side sat a young woman with long, dark hair. She had sickly pale complexion and very large, pale coloured eyes with distinctive eyebrows and a strong bone structure to her face. She wore no make-up and wasn’t dressed up, but she still looked as though she had just stepped off the runway. Next to her, Elena looked overweight.

“This is Morgana, Morgause’s sister,” Elena introduced.

“Nice to meet you.” Arthur reached over a hand in front of Elena. Morgana shook it but didn’t say anything.

Isolde came back with a glass of wine and handed it to Arthur. Gwaine trailed in after her, holding a tray of sandwiches.

“I didn’t cook but there’s cake for later,” Isolde said. She probably meant it as an apology but Arthur had a feeling that she had said these words so many times that any guilt she may have once felt about this shocking lack of hospitality had been worn thin and been replaced by convention. Arthur shrugged and took a sandwich. He wasn’t particularly hungry and, as a single man, he considered sandwich making a form of higher art he still had to master. Meanwhile, Morgause sat down next to her sister, bearing two plates and napkins, one of which she handed Arthur after a moment’s consideration.

“Sorry.” Arthur said but then Isolde sat down opposite them on top of the coffee table, took a sandwich for herself and used neither a plate nor a napkin, so Arthur reckoned it was probably all right with her. “Will there be many people?”

“Kara of course can’t come; Mordred said he would,” Isolde said around a mouthful. “Gilli excused himself, said he had a meeting with the management. Didn’t say what it was about.”

“Maybe, he’s finally been cited in for a disciplinary hearing,” Val said darkly. He had turned up behind the sofa some time between Arthur taking his seat and Isolde sitting down without Arthur having noticed. The situation between Val and Gilli hadn’t improved any since their first meeting, and their dislike for each other had only been compounded by the fact that Gilli had attacked Val on the Ealdor pitch during the chaos. It probably hadn’t been on purpose - whatever hallucination Gilli had been experiencing had been at fault - but Val wasn’t known to easily let go of a grudge, especially if he already disliked the person.

“Oh, and I invited Merlin,” Isolde said, as though she had only just now remembered.

Arthur groaned.

Val patted his back. “Why don’t you just finally man up and tell him who you are?” he asked.

Arthur knew his reasons but he didn’t want to explain. It all sounded ridiculous when said out loud. It had been enough when he had been forced to explain them to Uther. And even then, he had the feeling if they hadn’t been in the middle of one of Arthur’s paid therapy sessions where Uther was immersed in his professional persona, he would have laughed at Arthur, long and hard. As it was, he had just told him, "So basically, you are Clark Kent", and that made Arthur feel every bit of the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Or even better,” Isolde said, already grinning. “Next time you have sex, just tell him you want to try role playing, slip out of the room and then come back wearing your helmet. And nothing else!”

“Issy! I didn’t need that image in my mind,” Tristan yelled from the kitchen where he was purportedly putting candles on the cake. Most of everyone was laughing, even Morgana; judging from the faint redness to her cheeks, she was now imagining it as well. Morgause was the only one who retained her composure but Arthur fancied he could see a minute glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Oh, that’s a terrible idea,” Gwaine quipped once he stopped guffawing. “Merlin hates costumes.”

“Nooo!” Isolde boo-ed, turning around to look at Gwaine, as she was the only one facing in the other direction. “But really? How come?”

Arthur swore that Gwaine was giggling now. “It’s because while he was working overseas, he used to visit over Halloween. Of course he’d always forget to pack a costume for himself, and his best friend, Will, would insist on dressing him up as Dread Pirate Roberts - because of his name. I swear, every year, he rents the same costume, knowing that Merlin will invariably forget to bring his own. Every time it happens, his face--bloody hell!” Saying that, Gwaine lost it and curled up with laughter, not surfacing from it for minutes.

Arthur laughed with everyone else, but privately he didn’t think it was that funny; probably one had to be there to witness it.

“Huh, Dread Pirate Roberts - what are the odds?” Val said, looking at Arthur. “Now you really are Princess Buttercup.”

Going from Clark Kent to Princess Buttercup, Arthur thought. He didn’t know whether he should consider it an improvement.

“Are you talking about me?” Arthur heard Merlin’s voice from the door. “Hi everyone! Gwaine, this is a surprise!” Arthur saw Gwaine making some sort of hand signal, which probably meant he’d explain it later. Merlin shrugged and accepted it. He had been coming from outside, and it was raining, so he stayed in the foyer while he got rid of his wet things.

Isolde stood up to greet him and accept the present he had bought - Arthur noted that his was the only rectangular one within the pile. Arthur wanted to go to him, give him a kiss or a hug. In the end, he remained sitting on his backside, suffering Morgana’s pitying glances, and watching him from afar.

“You know we went to school together,” Merlin said, probably as a form of revenge. “Arthur and I, that is.”

“Let me guess, secretly pining and sending notes?” Isolde asked, looking intent - alongside the entire female contingent of the sofa (apart from Morgause of course).

“Not really,” Merlin said, sounding strained as he leant down to take off his boots.

“More like, secretly pining and pushing him into lockers,” Arthur said, suddenly brave and then turning self-conscious. He had never admitted as much to Merlin. He wondered whether he had made Merlin uncomfortable.

Merlin didn’t seem to be bothered. He gave Arthur an impish grin; Arthur fancied he could see fondness in his eyes. “Let’s not forget loudly ridiculing my future aspirations.”

“He told everyone that he was going to become an astronaut!” Arthur objected, the memory evoking a feeling of nostalgia. “No one over five says that! And everyone laughed at him, of course, so it wasn’t as if I was an exception.”

“Well, in this case, all of your opinions were invalid,” Merlin huffed, pretending to be annoyed.

“And why is that?” Morgana asked. Arthur was surprised because he had expected her voice to be thin and shy, but instead it was deep and strong.

“Because I did become an astronaut,” Merlin said.

“Really?” Elena’s attention was finally yanked away from the television. “That’s so exciting!”

“Not as exciting as it sounds,” Merlin demurred. “Didn’t get to work anywhere fancy, like NASA. I worked in commercial space flight. Things like repairing satellites, collecting the ones that couldn’t be repaired and other space debris. Sometimes flew supply payloads to the ISS and once to the Russian Moon Base on the north pole.”

“And shuttling space tourists?”

“Nope, didn’t have those.”

In hindsight, that probably explained why, at times, Merlin seemed to be throwing around money as though it wasn’t anything he had to consider before making some extravagant purchase, like getting Arthur into that high-class club -- or buying a house in Kensington just because he needed a place to live and that was the first one available.

Merlin finally stepped into the room, rubbing at his arms to get warmed up. Arthur could see the moment when his eyes landed on Morgause and went wide.

He drew Isolde aside, but it couldn’t be said that he was very subtle about it, especially because their hissed conversation was still audible to everyone apart from maybe Tristan. “You never told me you were friends with Morgause!”

“She lives across the corridor,” Isolde told him, looking amused. For a second, it looked as though she wanted to say more, but then decided to keep it to herself.

“We work together,” Morgause told Merlin from where she was sitting, making him jump. Maybe that was the reason that Merlin completely misunderstood (it was not hard to do when it came to Morgause; she had a way of making questions sound like statements and the other way round).

“Yes, we do,” Merlin nodded and waved a little awkwardly, which made Gwaine snort. “I’m Merlin. The pilot.”

Morgause rolled her eyes and turned back to the television; she probably judged that the inane music video which was playing, half-muted, would provide more intellectual challenge.

There was no more space on the sofa so Merlin sat in a chair and talked to Tristan while the sandwiches were being devoured. Merlin seemed to already know Tristan, although it seemed Tristan didn’t know him because Merlin began the conversation by introducing himself. Arthur caught a few words of what they were talking about while other conversations were going on around him. Sometimes Elena or Isolde tried to include him, but he was too focussed on Merlin to yield to distraction for long. They seemed not to mind. Once he heard Merlin ask about Kanen, another time, he heard Lance being mentioned. Tristan told him Lance was on medical leave from the force – something about a life-threatening illness, which had been luckily caught by screening just before any symptoms could have manifested, so treatment would not come too late. This was the official story of what happened, of course, to be told to people not in the know.

And then the sandwiches were gone and Tristan brought out the cake. There was only one candle on it, which seemed like cheating. It was lit and then subsequently blown out by Isolde.

“That’s just not fair,” Val said pointing at the lone candle while munching on his slice of cake. “How old are you, really?”

“One does not ask the age of a lady,” Morgana pointed out with mock-reproach.

“There’s nothing wrong with age,” Val blustered. “Some say it’s just a number. There are some people - men and women - who are said to age as fine wine.” Val was probably getting to the point where he was becoming sensitive about his age, Arthur thought.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re talking about someone in particular?” Morgana asked. She was Morgause’s younger sister and as such, the youngest among everyone present.

Val, who was already mid-rant, ignored her question. “Let’s say, for example, you wouldn’t kick Michael Fassbender out of your bed, would you?”

“Ew, he is a hundred if he is a day, and he has all that beard.” Isolde grimaced, and looked around to see whether other people shared her opinion.

“Fucking Gandalf was never very high on my bucket list, mate.” Arthur shook his head.

“He was Magneto, not Gandalf,” Merlin corrected, although it seemed most of his attention was concentrated on his cake.

“I thought Gandalf and Magneto were the same,” Arthur said, mostly just to annoy Merlin.

“Yeah, a different Magneto.” There was a high scraping noise of silverware against porcelain as Merlin methodically removed every trace of chocolate cream from his plate and licked it off his fork.

Arthur looked away because it started affecting him in ways which he considered best kept for private moments - or at least to conversations which did not revolve around the desirability of ancient bearded wizards. “Well, he does look like Gandalf.”

“I see why you like each other so much: a bunch of classical film geeks,” Val commented before pushing forward his empty plate. “Can I have some more cake? It’s a good thing we have regular exercise or this stuff could ruin my waistline.”

“Help yourself,” Tristan said dryly. He had let Val have his chair after bringing in the cake, and apparently wasn’t having any either. Instead, he stood behind Isolde, now sitting on the sofa, a hand resting on her shoulder. She looked up at him and Arthur couldn’t help but notice the wordless communication going on between them.

“Speaking about waistline…” she began, and then it looked as though she didn’t know how to continue. She put down her plate and stood. “I -- and my husband -- have some news.” Isolde looked around to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “I’m pregnant.”

There were congratulations and not a little surprise, especially from people in the know (i.e. everyone but Merlin). One of the lesser known symptoms of MAGIC was that it rendered the sufferer infertile – not because it affected the reproductive organs but because it changed random genes in the DNA of random cells – including the gametes, so basically it made the sufferer reproductively incompatible with the rest of the human race. The chances of successful conception between two people affected by MAGIC were something akin those of finding sentient alien life in the nearest solar system – practically zero. Even when pregnancy occurred, the infant tended not to live very long, suffering from so many congenital defects it aborted mission even before the mother became aware she had been pregnant at all.

The only reason Arthur had been born at all was because he had been conceived in vitro, from ova taken from his mother before she had become infected. Ironically, her being infected with MAGIC was what had improved her ability to carry Arthur to term, even though by the end, she had already been dying from autoimmune disease, thanks to MAGIC changing her cells’ DNA to something her immune system no longer recognised as her own. Arthur had become infected in utero and had been a carrier all his life; it had been only down to luck the virus had remained incubating for so long before it became active.

Isolde, however, was already in the second trimester, and her scans looked good.

Once Merlin was out to the loo, Morgause asked, “So what is going to happen now? Are you going to tell?”

Their contracts had determined a fixed amount of years which they were obliged to spend in the employ of the agency in case the procedure triggered the emergence of super-human abilities eminent within their bloodlines, in exchange for receiving life-saving treatment at no cost to themselves. If it didn’t, or if they proved less useful, as in the case of Tristan (whose ability was only good for not having to switch on the lights if he had to use the loo at night according to Isolde) and, as Arthur suspected, probably Gwaine, there was no obligation at all. But it had no contingencies for the event of a pregnancy. Certainly no one had imagined that parenthood could be an option for any of them, save adopting.

“I already told Doctor Evans’s team,” Isolde said, looking content and not like someone whose future was up in the air. “They were ecstatic, actually. Did you know that Nimueh, I mean Doctor Connor, used to be an obstetrician before she had dedicated her life to MAGIC research?”

“I did,” Arthur answered, mostly to himself.

“So we are going to stay here, and I guess I’m becoming their next study subject. And that means I’m no longer on active duty. Sorry,” she turned to Morgause, who only shook her head and gave her an almost-there smile. “I actually feel safer, knowing I’ll be in their hands than if I had to do this on my own.”

 

#  ****\---** **

 

The next morning, Arthur woke to Merlin staring at him while he slept. He had a curious expression on his face which Arthur couldn’t decipher, at least not without the help of some caffeine, but it was gone as soon as Arthur blinked. By then, Merlin had turned back to his phone, scrolling up and down, probably checking messages and feeds and whatever else one checked at the beginning of a new day.

Arthur had invited Merlin to spend the night after Isolde’s party had ended, but gave no hints at wanting sex. It hadn’t been that late, and Arthur hadn’t been that tired, he just hadn’t been in the right mood. Merlin hadn’t seemed to mind. They had gone to sleep side-by-side in Arthur’s not-quite-wide enough bed, skin pressed against skin under the thick duvet to keep out the cold, which was now sneaking in due to the fact that Merlin had pulled away, probably so he wouldn’t disturb Arthur’s sleep. Arthur shivered and snuggled up to his warmth.

“How come you’re not cold?” he groused, seeing as Merlin was sitting up against the pillows, his upper body uncovered, and he couldn’t see or feel even the tiniest goose bump on him.

Merlin shrugged, playing with Arthur’s hair. “Used to it, I guess. Space is a very cold place,” he said dramatically. “Compared to that, this is nothing.” Arthur bit him for that, making Merlin chuckle and then ask, “How do you feel about a nice hot shower? We could share.” Arthur pushed his cold nose into Merlin’s flank, and tried to decide whether it was possible to hear someone wagging his eyebrows. He felt himself stirring, his imagination running away with the idea; clearly, last night had been a fluke.

“Need to use the loo first,” he said, pushing off the duvet. He jumped out of bed into the cool air, then, to avoid the hassle of putting on clothes, took off on a run towards the bathroom, which would be nice and warm. No point; they would be coming off soon anyhow. “I’ll tell you when you can come,” he yelled back before he clicked the door closed. He thought he heard Merlin chuckle, before he went back to scrolling through his morning feeds.

Arthur took care of matters and then he decided he wouldn’t yet need a shave, although his bollocks itched a bit with stubble, but it wasn’t yet visible. He did a bit of pre-shower cleaning, just so he could enjoy a full range of possibilities, once Merlin joined him, getting half-hard just from imagining all that could potentially follow. He made sure there were enough towels out, lube and condoms in the medicine cabinet, and then opened the door.

“Well?” he said.

Merlin didn’t need to be asked twice.

And then Arthur spent a couple of steamy hours enjoying Merlin’s body and not thinking about why he was avoiding having any sort of real conversations with him.

 

#  ****\---** **

It was just a bit after noon when Arthur and Merlin decided to have a late brunch-early lunch in a nearby restaurant. The area was peppered with small places whose owners changed every few months, and last night someone had mentioned that a new pizza place had opened in place of the corner Chinese take-away.

After stepping out of the lift, they bumped into Lance talking to Percy who was currently manning the security booth.

“Hey Lance, what are you doing here?” Merlin asked.

“I just moved here,” Lance said, looking faintly uneasy. No wonder; Arthur still remembered the lengthy procedure that involved, and the tons of papers to sign about not disclosing his identity, to render the likelihood of that happening – whether out of carelessness or on purpose - the smallest possible.

Arthur felt his stomach tighten at the unforeseen situation, and thought he should have taken everyone’s advice and come clean before something exactly like this happened. Percy gave him a questioning look. Someone must have explained him the complicated situation between Arthur and Merlin. Arthur just shrugged and grimaced.

“Percy was just going to show me his trick,” Lance said, likely to divert Merlin’s attention from himself.

“Hey, Percy! Uh, I guess now I know how you knew Arthur.” Merlin turned to Arthur, looking a bit guilty as though he had forgotten about him, and made completely unnecessary introductions. “Arthur, this is my friend, Lancelot.”

Lance coughed. “It’s actually Lance.” He actually looked a bit apologetic. “Lancelot was a nickname my ex gave me.”

“Oh, sorry.” Merlin went a bit red at that. “I didn’t know.” Arthur thought it was funny that all of them were feeling uncomfortable, albeit for drastically different reasons.

“So!” Merlin forged on, maybe a bit too loudly, to break the ice. “What is this trick?” He looked expectantly at Percy.

Percy’s mood suddenly improved. He grinned, looking between Merlin and Lance, and said, “Watch!”

Lance happened to sneeze just then, so he completely missed those one-point-seven-five seconds while Thor, the god of thunder (although still retaining Percy’s uniform) manned the security booth. Merlin saw and his jaw dropped.

“What!” he yelled, but then Percy looked like Percy again, and Merlin blinked and shook his head as though trying to get rid of a fata morgana. “How did you do that? Some sort of hologram?” Merlin made a show of looking around for the imaginary projector. Arthur could tell he was just playing it up for Percy’s sake, and it made him smile a little.

“Not at all.” Percy grinned. “Some people who work here, chances are, they have been through treatment for MAGIC. Not everyone, of course.”

“Right. I don’t have MAGIC, nor does Arthur,” Merlin said as an aside, looking at Percy like a little kid who had just got his best wish for Christmas. Arthur thought he should be jealous of the attention, except that it did not seem sexual to him, so he let Percy have it. “So how come you’re not on the team?”

“My power is not useful enough to merit being on the team,” Percy said with a shrug that said, what can you do. “But I got this job so I’m close to the facilities in case something happens.”

“But you do have a power, right?” Merlin enthused. “Come on, show me!”

“Well, yes. I can do this:” And then his face blurred and changed into young Channing Tatum’s face made up (badly) as a werewolf from that long and complicated science fiction flick which contained way too many toilet brushes for Arthur’s taste. This time it lasted about five seconds, then it changed back.

“Wow!” Merlin said again.

Percy shrugged, looking suddenly shy.

And then Merlin’s stomach gave out a loud gurgle and Arthur decided that was their clue to go.

Afterwards, he couldn’t decide whether he was glad or disappointed that Merlin had, once again, failed to realise the truth.


	8. Chapter 8

The Dragon blog was usually the first thing Merlin opened in the morning and read before going to bed. He had done so every day, almost obsessively, ever since it had informed him of the first new-generation superhero, The Prince, as he had been called at the time, and then the rest of his cadre. And so when he woke that morning his hand jerked instinctively, intent on grabbing his phone from the nightstand. But his arm was trapped against a warm body - Arthur, by now it took no time to remember the name and face and everything that went with them whenever he found himself in this situation - and Merlin stopped moving, content to luxuriate in the moment just a bit longer. Strange, he thought, but that thought didn’t go any further before sleep claimed him again.

But half an hour later he was, once again, awake, and this time he knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep. So he reluctantly disentangled himself from the body-warm cocoon (Arthur liked to set the room temperature a bit colder than normal or else - he said - he would sweat, which he didn’t like. Merlin didn’t mind. It provided a good excuse for snuggling) and emerged into the nippy temperature of the bedroom in order to check his phone. Loo first, though. Even at this time of the year, the sun had already risen, so he didn’t need to stumble around in the unfamiliar setting of Arthur’s tiny flat. He wondered why Arthur lived here. Sure, it was close to his work and had the advantage of rubbing elbows with actual superheroes, but shouldn’t he be able to afford better from the money he must have made from professional sports?

He revived his phone and opened the browser; he had set it up so that the Dragon blog was the default page it opened on. There were more news about Sophia Black hinting half-truths about The Prince and breaking news that WilDai on youtube did not exactly deny that The Prince was his secret identity, which many took to mean that he had as good as admitted it. There were other things under the superhero tag, only one concerning any of the SPERT team’s members: someone had seen a leaked interview footage with Soldier in which he announced that he is no longer going to be part of the team, but Merlin didn’t get to learn why and what he was doing instead because he found himself just scrolling through all the posts without taking in a word of it. And even more strangely, he just wasn’t interested.

He was about to put his phone back down when Arthur began to wake up, and he found his attention diverted by the tangled blond tuft peeking out over the top of the duvet and then Arthur’s sleepy features emerging underneath. Arthur’s eyes opened and looked straight at Merlin, and he felt as though he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Thankfully, Arthur wasn’t a quick riser; he always needed a minute to get his body in gear, and at least one cup of tea for his brain to settle in the driver’s seat, so by the time that minute had passed, Merlin was back to pretending to read his blog.

Was it really that strange that he was more interested in Arthur than in sensational celebrity gossip? After a while, they all sounded the same. Was it even stranger that he knew Arthur’s morning habits? Maybe not, seeing how many nights they had spent together. What was unusual was that last night they hadn’t even had sex. Maybe he should remedy that.

 

#  ****\---** **

“So, about Arthur. Do you think I should buy him a Christmas present?” Merlin asked Elena.

She held off on answering until she swallowed. “No.”

“You don’t think I should buy him a present? Would that be too much?” Merlin wondered. He didn’t feel he knew Arthur well enough for a thoughtful present but he didn’t want to give him something generic. He didn’t want to watch Arthur pretend he liked what he got and maybe feel obligated to reciprocate.

“I think it would be too little,” Elena said bluntly.

“What do you mean? What else could I give him?” Merlin remembered that in the past Arthur had never felt comfortable when he had been confronted with Merlin’s relative wealth. He was positive that anything too expensive would not be well-received.

“I thing the best you could do would be if you finally asked him out on a date.” Elena pointed her fork at Merlin, splattering herself and the tablecloth with tomato sauce.

“Oh. You think so?”

“I do.” And Merlin realised that he really wanted to.

“Actually, yeah. Okay. I’ll do that.”

They were having lunch in the cafeteria and had been gossiping about how that blog post about the Soldier’s departure had turned out to be true, after all, confirmed by official sources. Not only that but Spitfire would apparently also take a break from the team - for reasons undisclosed. When Merlin had mentioned that, Elena had looked at him curiously, and then something reminded Merlin of Percy, and the question just hadn’t left him alone, not even while he tried to distract himself with Arthur.

“So. I have a question,” Merlin said. At Elena’s nod, he took a deep breath and asked, “Have you had treatment for MAGIC?”

“I did. Still have, actually. It’s not just an injection, you know.” Merlin had not known.

“So do you have any powers?” Merlin blurted.

Elena looked down at the front of her bulky coveralls, which was covered in spag bol sauce. “I wouldn’t call it a power,” she hedged.

“What do you call it then?” Merlin asked, curious.

“Bad luck?” Elena grimaced and shrugged eloquently. It was clear she didn’t want to talk about it, so Merlin found a different topic.

“I wonder if Gwaine...” He didn’t finish the sentence; there was no need.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Elena told him. Maybe he would.

Merlin stood and delivered both of their trays to the rack. (It would have been unwise to let Elena do it.) Someone stepped up behind him, gently took him by the arm and hissed into his ear, “Merlin? You need to come with me. It is important.”

He turned his head and saw that it was Lance.

“Lance?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Later,” Lance told him. His face was grim under the forced projection of neutrality. When they reached Elena, she smiled at them, standing from her chair, Lance’s grip on Merlin’s arm going seemingly unnoticed.

“Well, I’ll go back to my desk. Bye Merlin, bye Merlin’s friend, I hope to see you later.” She was flirting with Lance, he realized, and then walked away as though Lance had willed her to go. Lance directed Merlin to the nearest lift.

“How did you do that?” Merlin asked.

“Later,” Lance said, which shouldn’t have sounded reassuring, but it somehow did. Until Merlin remembered having got a similar answer to questions he had directed at Lance before, only that the promised “later” had never actually manifested. Merlin didn’t want to make a scene, so he let himself be manhandled into the cabin and allowed the doors to close before he shook himself loose from Lance’s grip and turned to face him.

“How about now?”

But Lance just shook his head. “I’m not the most qualified to tell you. And you’ll know soon enough.”

He directed Merlin to the nurse’s office and left him there to go in on his own.

Merlin was surprised to see it was Doctor Evans waiting for him instead of Gwen. In fact, he couldn’t see her anywhere. He hadn’t yet met Doctor Evans in person. He was the head researcher and only very rarely saw even his patients, let alone anyone who wasn’t connected to his research. Right now he seemed to be studying Merlin, not saying anything.

“Uh. Sorry, I was told to come here,” Merlin said just to break the uncomfortable silence. “You weren’t expecting me?”

“Come in, my boy,” Doctor Evans said. The way he had addressed Merlin sounded strange, but it could be excused by his age. He was much older than Merlin had imagined when he had only known him through his mother’s descriptions. He moved slowly and with premeditation; Merlin watched him circle Gwen’s desk and sit behind it, then indicate the other chair - a hospital-white, thinly cushioned number - and it occurred Merlin that maybe he was not the only one who felt out of place. “Please, sit,” Doctor Evans told him.

“You’re Hunith’s son, aren’t you?” Merlin nodded. “Your mother of course wrote me about you.” Merlin grimaced. He didn’t want to imagine what. He only hoped she hadn’t shared any of his toddler photographs.

“Um. Why am I here?” Merlin asked, when the silence lingered.

Doctor Evans sighed. “There is no good way of saying this,” he began, and Merlin thought that was the worst way to start a conversation. Apprehension gathered in his stomach. “Merlin, you have MAGIC.”

“What? No!” Merlin said, half standing; his chair slid backwards with a grating noise.

“I’m afraid it’s true,” Doctor Evans confirmed. “We took your blood. We analysed it. I can confirm that you do have MAGIC.”

Merlin was beginning to feel light-headed. Doctor Evans didn’t seem to notice, because he continued in a conversational tone.

“However, yours is a curious case, which is why it took us so long to confirm your results. None of your parents had any super-human abilities, no mutations. They were both in the demographic who shouldn’t have been infected. In fact, they were merely carriers.”

“Oh.” Merlin felt the tension leave him. “That means that I’m not ill. I’m just a carrier, too?”

“Not at all.”

“But you said my parents--” Merlin objected, stupidly.

Doctor Evans silenced him with a placating hand in the air before he continued what he had begun. “But, as I said before, your case is curious - unique, at least among the cases I’ve personally encountered or heard of - in the way that MAGIC doesn’t seem to have affected your cells adversely. As far as I can tell - although I’d need more diverse tissue samples to confirm that with complete certainty - there was only ever a single strand of the MAGIC virus present in your body, so it hasn’t mutated at all. For your information, that’s what causes all those devastating side effects. I suspect that MAGIC affected your DNA exactly as - as far as I can guess - it had been originally designed to work: to give super-human abilities to people who were without any.”

Merlin shook his head. “So, what are you saying? I’m not dying but I have MAGIC and it made me a superhero?”

“Did it?” Doctor Evans asked, looking expectant. Merlin knew what he was really asking. It was one thing to find the mutations in someone’s DNA which have been proven to be responsible for the so-called super-human abilities; it was another to have confirmation that they had produced actual superpowers.

Merlin felt like a mouse caught within a glass maze, fruitlessly searching for an exit or a hole to hide from the harsh lamp light while enormous beings in white lab coats were observing his every move.

“Well, I mean...” he said, rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers. “Sometimes... things are happening...” Merlin finished it with a shrug and said no more.

“Would you mind telling what kind of things?” Doctor Evans asked in a gentle voice, cautious of Merlin’s apprehension.

“Um.” Merlin said eloquently. He had never tried to make things happen on purpose before. In fact, he had tried to avoid situations in which anything could happen; this ability of his was just too unpredictable, too dangerous, too huge to comprehend with human intellect. But maybe it was time he stopped trying to deal with it on his own. “Well, things like... this,” he said and he looked out the window, and willed time to stop.

Doctor Evans’s eyes followed his gaze, and then he stood abruptly, his chair tilting back and rolling backwards on its wheels. He lost his balance and fell backwards, and then Merlin caught him in the middle of his fall, helping him stand again, using only his mind and whatever power it was that enabled him to affect things from afar. “And things like this,” he concluded. “Other stuff too.”

Doctor Evans just looked at him, his palm pressed against his sternum as if trying to calm his heart. “My boy!” he said.

Merlin caught him again when he tried to sit abruptly into a chair which was no longer in place.

#  ****\---** **

Merlin stared at the name written on the door plate: _Arthur Pennington Draco Williams_.

He had pressed the bell half a minute ago. He knew that Arthur was in there, but he hadn’t opened the door yet. Then he heard the loo flush (he winced; no privacy in these flats; he was definitely keeping his house in Kensington) and the tap, and five seconds later, he heard soft footsteps approaching. The lock clicked and the door opened. Arthur looked through the gap. After spotting Merlin, he pulled the door open for him.

“I guess I don’t have to ask whether I can come in,” Merlin said nervously.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked. “What are you doing here?”

Merlin didn’t blame him for asking. Working hours - especially Merlin’s - wouldn’t end for a good few hours longer. He had spent about an hour with Doctor Evans, demonstrating the kind of abilities he dared show. Doctor Evans took notes and video recordings - with Merlin’s permission - bemoaning the fact that Gwen’s small office lacked a 3D recording equipment, and then they sat down and talked about the future.

Of course, Merlin had agreed to become a subject in Doctor Evans’s study. After he had told him they could map his entire DNA and identify genes mutated by MAGIC and the kind of superhuman abilities they induced. It was just a too tempting offer to resist.

And then came another offer, from the person of Agravaine Weary, who had been alerted to the demonstration by the CCTV and had apparently watched it from beginning to end, several times. And then demanded live demonstrations. Merlin was still reeling.

“So?” Arthur asked, seeming uncertain.

“Um.” Merlin began. He had rehearsed on his way here what he would say and how, but at the moment he couldn’t recall any of his pre-composed explanations. “I wanted to tell you something...two somethings. No, actually three--”

“Merlin!” Arthur interrupted, his arms crossed in front of his chest defensively. Merlin couldn’t look higher.

He took a deep breath, and on the exhale he just let out what wanted to come out: “Would you still like to go on a date with me?”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked. Merlin finally looked up and saw hope. It served to calm part of the anxiety he was feeling.

“I am. Very sure.”

“In that case, I say yes, I do still want to date you. More than ever before.” Arthur gave him a smile and held out his hand for Merlin to take, planning to pull him close, and probably distract Merlin from the rest of what he had planned to say. Merlin was in two minds of letting him. But that would be cheating, and morally wrong, besides.

“There’s a catch, though,” he said, watching with trepidation as Arthur’s brows drew together. He rushed to continue before he got cold feet. “I have MAGIC.”

Arthur’s reaction wasn’t anything Merlin had expected. Well, he hadn’t known what to expect, but mild puzzlement and then an expression of concern wasn’t it. “I’m not dying from it,” he hurried to reassure. “But - and this is the third thing - I agreed to become a superhero and become part of Morgause’s team. So that might make matters...” Merlin stopped before finishing.

Arthur’s expression morphed into something akin to disbelief and maybe amusement on the side, and for the life of him, Merlin couldn’t figure out...

“Bloody hell!” He slapped a palm over his face in a gesture he had thought only happened in soap operas and romantic comedies. “You’re The Prince!” he accused. This time, Arthur broke out in outright laughter - although by the end of it, it began to sound somewhat hysterical.

“You’re the bloody Prince!” Merlin couldn’t stop saying it, maybe repetition would make it less incomprehensible. But mostly how he hadn’t realised until now, when the signs had been plain, under his nose, all this time.

“Still complicated?” Arthur asked.

“Never more complicated,” Merlin agreed. “But who cares?” He shrugged, smiling repentantly.

Arthur pulled him into a kiss to seal the deal.

 

#  ****\---** **

Merlin woke up to a terrible grating sound, resembling the noise the TARDIS made from Doctor Who, except less trademarked. Arthur sat up next to him and groped for the night stand. He found his phone and thumbed the screen, and the noise stopped. Merlin was about to ask why Arthur would set a noise like that for an alarm (and what for) when Arthur lifted his phone to his ear and said, “Yes?”

Oh. A call then.

“Understood. We’ll be there shortly.”

Arthur closed the connection.

“What?” Merlin asked.

“Your new job is calling.”

Merlin groaned. He grabbed after Arthur’s phone and checked the time. It was shortly after 5 p.m. - they had barely managed to sleep an hour, and he definitely needed more, after the day he had: work in the morning, lunch with Elena, scary medical revelations for afters, one and a half hour of exhausting power demonstration to follow, then a couple of hard confessions, chased by 45 minutes of satisfying bedroom activities, spiced up by much more pleasant demonstrations of Merlin’s abilities – special and otherwise.

But then he remembered what his new job entailed, and he no longer felt like sleeping.

 

# \---

 

They arrived almost at the top of the building. Merlin hadn’t known the lift even went this high up, as there were no buttons above ground level. He wished he had paid attention to what Arthur had done to override this obvious design error. Once arrived, they stepped out of the lift and went through a long, nondescript corridor which only had one door at its very end. Arthur opened it without much ado, and Merlin found himself in a darkened room with people standing around a projected 3D video from youtube. It distinctly lacked adorable cats and had too much gore for Merlin’s tastes.

It featured Morgause - not from any of her numerous Hollywood flicks but as she was now. Except that for the first time Merlin had seen her in real life, she looked angry - truly angry.

“ _My army is not going to stop until they find you, Cenred_ ,” she said, and Merlin wondered whether the shakiness in her normally cool voice was due to bad audio quality or an underlying fear. And then the image changed, Morgause’s face replaced with a wide shot of things -- human-shaped things, a whole army’s worth of them -- moving in the dark, catching people, tearing flesh and breaking bones and stomping the life out of anyone who stood in their way.

The video stopped abruptly and the room flickered into brightness. Merlin blinked.

“You’re finally here,” he heard a faintly familiar voice. “Ah, Mr Roberts, I’m glad you’re here too, but you’re not expected to partake in this next assignment, except if we need a pilot.” Weary must have seen the mix of disappointment and relief on Merlin’s face because he added, placating, “But you’re welcome to stay. You might be able to help with the planning.”

“What happened?” Arthur asked.

“It’s Morgause,” Val said, his voice dry with disdain, although Merlin had a feeling it was not directed at her. “Some idiot drug dealer named Cenred put a video on youtube, bragging that he had her sister, and she should come and get him. And poof!” Val - Valiant, Merlin realised with sudden clarity - finished dramatically.

“I gave her the order to wait until the police worked out where this Cenred character was holding Miss Clarke captive,” Weary continued for him. “It was taking too slow for her tastes. We didn’t think we needed to keep an eye on her. She just disappeared. Gone off to save her sister on her own.

“Now the team is only three-man strong, and we have an additional problem to deal with: her newest army. Some witnesses called them immortal.”

“Zombies,” Val interjected.

“No disrespect, Mr Weary, but what about me?” came another all-too familiar voice.

“Lance?” Merlin whirled around. He hadn’t noticed Lance being there too. All those entreaties for explaining later were beginning to make sense now.

“Hi, Merlin.” Lance smiled weakly. But then he turned back to Weary, his hard stare demanding an answer.

“You haven’t completed training yet,” Weary reminded him.

“But I had gone through training to join the police. I made Sergeant.”

“We might need all the able bodies we can get,” Arthur murmured, as if to himself. Weary nodded towards him, conceding his point uneasily.

“I doubt that Mr Griffith’s pheromones will affect Morgause’s army, but have your way.”

“What, just like that?” Val asked, as though a great injustice had been done to him.

“Well,” Weary said. “I suppose it’s time for you to learn about it. Morgause left something behind for the team. I was going to wait until everyone was present. Leon, play the message.”

The room didn’t darken this time, and the video which began to play was the unexciting 2D-kind. The screen was entirely filled by Morgause’s face, her background blurred and indistinct. She began to talk, face impassive, and everyone in the room fell silent.

_“I’m aware that I’m disobeying a direct order and that it will have consequences. I’m not saying I no longer want to be part of the team - if that’s going to be possible after this - but I’m a loner; I’ve never got used to leading a team and I don’t think I’ve done very well in the past. I’d like to take this opportunity to step down as team leader. I recommend Arthur to take my place.”_

She looked sideways and the video cut out.

“So that’s it. Congratulations, Mr Williams.”

“And you’re just going to accept this?” Mordred asked.

“She went rogue. You saw the evidence. And even if she hadn’t and it’s a trick designed to confuse us, we still need someone to lead the team in her absence. I happen to agree with her recommendation.” Weary rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Pendragon!” Merlin blurted.

“What?” Arthur turned to him, a lack of understanding on his face.

“That’s what you should be called.” Arthur looked at him as though Merlin had lost his mind. “Well, it’s your name. Sort of. If you squint,” Merlin babbled. “And it also means ‘war leader’.”

That seemed to have settled it for Weary. “All right, Pendragon. This is your team now,” he made an expansive hand-movement to encompass the whole room. “Go and deal with her.”

Merlin took this as dismissal and turned towards the door, only to be stopped by Arthur’s hand on his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Getting the plane ready.”

“You won’t need it,” Weary interjected before Arthur could address Merlin’s answer. “Ten minutes ago someone activated the GPS on both Miss Clarke’s and Cenred Doolittle’s phones; they are in Kingsbury. We called you right afterwards.”

“And Morgause?” Arthur turned back to Weary, pulling Merlin back with the same movement.

“We don’t know, but her army is closing in on that location as well, so she must be close,” Weary said, then scowled as though he had just remembered something. “Mr Williams, you do know that Mr Roberts is not yet officially part of the team?”

Arthur shrugged, his thumb digging into Merlin’s clavicle. “I could tell him to stay here, but I don’t think there would be a point. He’s been told that plenty during past missions, and he’s always found a way to follow us into the action. Besides --” he turned to Merlin, who was beginning to feel excluded from the conversation, “I’ve seen what you can do. I reckon we’ll need your abilities to stop this immortal army. But you’re not to go off on your own. You’ll either stay with me or Lance and Mordred. Understood?”

“You’re much bossier than I’m used to,” Merlin muttered, dismayed. He heard Mordred’s “Yes, sir” and saw Lance’s little nod, which nonetheless conveyed his unquestioning obedience. Merlin thought it was funny that Arthur had only been made team leader five minutes ago but he already had the team’s full trust. Even Val had stopped questioning the issue of his inheriting Morgause’s position after that first outburst.

“That’s because I’m the boss now, Merlin.”

“And what are we going to call him?” Val asked.

Arthur’s expression morphed into a slow smile; it looked like a premonition. Merlin’s eyes widened.

“Oh no! Please not Dread Pirate Roberts!”

 

**THE END**

 

_**Here Be Dragons** _

_The Celebrity News_

_****WilDai** ** ****–** ** ****dead!** ** ****  
** ** by Kilgar, A. _

_After his latest confession video in which he further expounded upon the many problems associated with being The Prince, WilDai (going by William Daira when in civvies ) was killed by a freak zombie attack whilst he was recording his next (now last) video diar(rhoea)y. Watch the video  _


End file.
